


The Flame of Melkor

by lovelytimes



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Melkor Wins, Gen, M/M, Melkor - Freeform, angbang
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-01
Updated: 2019-06-09
Packaged: 2019-09-29 10:50:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 11
Words: 37,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17202098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovelytimes/pseuds/lovelytimes
Summary: Melkor surrenders the Silmarils. In return, Eru gives him the Flame Imperishable and Melkor releases glorious hell upon Arda! More like one-chapter vignettes along a theme.





	1. The Price

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Mairon, I have something much better now than the Silmarils,” and delight spread across the Melkor’s face, “There is much to do. For all of Arda beckons to be conquered now that I possess the Flame Imperishable!”

Filled with latent rapture, Melkor the Dark Enemy of Arda, leaned his back on the black throne of Angband. A satisfied smile crossed his mouth as he savored a sweet memory enemies falling wave after wave of vicious onslaughts. Glorious! He sighed in a moment of content pleasure filled contemplation sipping a goblet of wine.

Interrupting the pleasant thoughts, a strange and strong wind brushed across his face stirring his black hair. He knew immediately what this could be, and he didn’t like it! He stood rapidly with shock and concern as a column of spectral light danced across the throne room. Auras quickly filled the dark corners of the space shining brighter than the three Silmarils.

 _Damnit! I knew it! Forced teleportation! The audacity!_ Frightened orcs went shrieking and scampering away heedless of the potential danger to their master. _Cowards! Who is trying to whisk me away?! Who has power with such reach? And no one is helping. Idiots!_

There was one who was aware of the threat. One who leaped to protect his master, “My Lord!” shouted Mairon amid the growing roar of the wind, reaching for the Dark Lord, but too late. The column of light and wind had already flown around the Lord of Angband, enveloping his body with a choking pressure and tightening around his from. Melkor drew in a quick hiss of pain as disorientation griped him. The white spectral power quickened its fury in a vortex around his body, whipping long dark hair around with it. _Someone is trying to take me somewhere against my will! Bastard!_

Melkor knew now without the slightest doubt that this was a forced teleportation. A very potent one at that.  _But who has the power to take me thus?_

With a lurching shift and rapid blur of motion, he was moved body and soul to a new location, and it was _not_ pleasant.

Catching his balance at the sudden stop of motion, his eyes scanned the area to gauge his present whereabouts and determine any threats. He stood in a cavernous, marble-walled space. Carved walls. Elf walls! Feanor’s walls! Feanor’s throne room! He stopped scanning when a new realization hit him, suddenly and keenly aware that he was unarmed. He had naught a dagger at his hip nor phial of poison at the ready. Nothing!

In the gut of Feanor's stronghold standing before a tall dais with no weapon, Melkor stilled himself. Feanor himself came into focus sitting on his own white perch. _Damned elf! But he could not transport me so!_

The source of the teleportation rapidly become clear, for between Melkor and Feanor a familiar figure stood. Eru, the Great Creator of all. Melkor gauged quickly and correctly that the Great Creator of the world was in prior discourse with Feanor-- A conversation which Melkor was now compelled to join. _Lovely_.

“Welcome, Melkor,” greeted the Great Creator extending his arms wide in a welcoming gesture. Tall, white bearded, with an ancient and wise look, Eru’s eyes shone with the light of unfathomable power.

To say that Melkor was not pleased would be mild. He quieted his anger. “Greetings father. To what occasion do I owe my presence?” Melkor’s deep blue eyes burned with anger and question. Truly he grasped for the meaning of his forced delivery to the seat of his enemy’s power. He seethed with loathing and deep hatred for the elves, and this elf most of all.

“My dearest Melkor,” Eru perceived his creation’s fury filled confusion, “I have missed you,” And truly he did, smiling gently at his oldest and darkest son.

Great loathing and disgust filled Feanor at the presence of the foul enemy, “Oh, Great Creator of all, with greatest respect and deepest honor, I must ask,” Feanor hesitated to question Eru, but to question he was compelled less out of curiosity, but genuine hatred, “Why has the Moringotto been brought here in such a manner? For truly I do not wish to parley with this treacherous deceiver. I have seen the results of conferring with Morgoth, and know the depths of his depravity, lies, and lack of honor!”

“Peace, Feanor,” Eru spoke with serene authority, “For _honor_ is the reason that I bring you two together. And in such a manner is the only way it could occur. That and to save both of you from tragic fates. Rage and suspicion overflows from both your hearts, making this method oc meeting the only method of discourse.”

“With highest reverence and regard, Great Creator,” Feanor pursued with a slight bow of deference, “I truly cannot bear to house the Moringotto in my kingdom, in my throne room, before my person. That he draws breath I cannot abide, and his physical presence here is an affront to my people,” pride was quickly winning over deference.

“Feanor, it is you who affronts me if you so speak so of my finest Vala creation.” Eru turned to Melkor who continued to seethe as did Feanor, “But such is not the reason for this meeting. Dearest Melkor, it is primarily your actions that prompt our meeting.”

Melkor remained fixed where he was deposited, all rage, and all hatred behind the dark fair form. To Eru, however, he remained respectful, “Father, of what actions do you speak? I have suffered greatly already having served the sentence for changing your beloved Music. But now,” his eyes drilled into the elf king atop the dais. “I rightly defend my lands from this elf’s treachery, as he blocks my trade routes, starves my people, prevents our prosperity, and insults my person...”

“ _You_!” Feanor stiffened with fury. If he could drive a poisoned dagger deep into Melkor’s body, he would rejoice, glorying at the agonized death of the Dark Enemy, “You kill my people, kidnap my kin, dishonor your word, and lay repeated unjust siege to my kingdom!”

“And so we are at an impasse. This conflict will end in mutual destruction if it continues thusly. But continue it will no more,” Eru raised a hand in a calming gesture. “Melkor, Feanor, I bring you together to end this foolish warring. I know and love you both. I also know that neither will compromise. And both desires what he cannot have. Thus I offer firm, yet fair, alternatives, a new course of action, and a measure of... motivation.”

“Melkor my dear,” Eru walked closer to the Dark Lord and reached for Melkor's hand. A gesture which Melkor accepted, now cradling the hand of his maker. “I created you to add chaos and to offset the other Valar. Creation cannot grow unchecked or it would suffocate itself. Creation needs entropy, a turmoil that only you can bring. Though the other Valar cannot see it, some of their creations are foolish, indulgent, and require correction. Great in power and great in discord, you add balance. And this balance will ultimately bring harmony to the world. You are the essence of dissonance and disorder, and I love you for that. But pure destruction you now sow, and hatred. You no longer simply offset and correct, you _annihilate!_  Yes, yes… you darkened the Trees. But the blackening of the Trees I accept. It’s part of your chaos and your nature. And the darkening of the Trees brought about even greater lights and added equilibrium to the world. This is my intent for you and for Arda. But now, your greed has made you suffer terribly and lessened your might."

"You _need_ great power," continued the great Eru, "Without it, you cannot truly fulfill your purpose and complete my wishes for Arda and beyond. Immense power you also require since you are distinct from the other Valar. You need strength to endure the dissimilar qualities of your being. Now, in your rage, you seek to destroy all of Arda, and have unjustly taken Feanor's encapsulated remnants of the Trees. This action prompts the Eldar to war, enhancing the pain and misery of all, including you. This only leads to a path of sorrow for all. But, the three gems are not yours. Your possession of the jewels has caused imbalance. You cannot see your future possibilities, but I see all like a web of actions and consequences. I will end it this time lest you suffer a terrible fate. We've done this before, you know, and it always leads to the same end unless the jewels are removed at this stage. I have made my decision on how your fate will now diverge from its inevitable course. It is for the better. I don't wish you or the Eldar to suffer so. You know what I ask. I need not say it. You must trust me. You can be happy if you do this. There is no joy for you in the jewels."

“No!” gasped Melkor, withdrawing his hand and recoiling from the clear suggestion of which Eru spoke. For without question, Eru required the return of the Silmarils. “No! You cannot ask this of me! I will not comply!” His mind was swimming at the revelation of his true purpose. He knew why he was created but to hear it spoken in such plain language was agonizing.  

“But comply you _will_.” With a motion quicker than lightning, Eru raised a hand and encircled Melkor's neck. Melkor did not resist. The action was simply too quick. His surprise was clear as blue eyes widened, a pale face turned a shade even whiter, and his hands instinctively went to his own neck. But Eru was not squeezing the throat he held, only grasping it gently, but firmly, feeling the Vala’s strong, quickening jugular pulse. The grasp about Melkor's neck was a gesture of unmistakable warning to underscore the words Eru then spoke.

“You will heed my words, Melkor. Return the Silmarils now, or I will destroy you.  _Utterly!_ ”

Melkor whispered a breathless refusal of disbelief, “No! No, I cannot!”

“Calm now, dearest Melkor. I offer you a living gift more valuable than the three cold jewels. I offer you a piece of the Flame Imperishable within me,” Eru spoke true, offering Melkor a gift beyond value.

Melkor exhaled with a shuddering breath of both refusal and desire.

“Surrender the Silmarils. Do it _now_. True, I could seize them, but you must willingly comply. You will cease to exist if you delay one moment further. Do it _now!_ I implore you! Melkor, I beseech you to relent!"

Melkor grasped the severity of the threat, and knew Eru would destroy him and crush him from existence. No pain. No consciousness. No torment. Only non-existence. This was unfathomable to Melkor. How could he not exist? Melkor was he who arises in might. The greatest and most powerful of all the Valar.

Unable to quell the appearance of fear and excitement in his form, his chest rose and fell with too rapid breaths. Still held by his throat, in one seamless motion, Melkor raised his hands in a quick glide, removed his crown, and surrendered the iron and the three jewels it held to Eru. The Vala's emotions were of fire, confusion, relief, fear, regret, lust, sorrow, anguish, and elation intertwined. Each sensation ringing pure, strong, and burning hot in his fëa.

Melkor drew a quaking breath to pepper the creator with questions, but Eru turned to speak to the elf king, “Feanor, I will return to you the jewels of your family, but first you will make concessions.”

Feanor then asked a pragmatic, kingly question, “What concessions, Great One?” Although his heart desired to possess the Similarils without delay, Feanor thought of his people. What must he concede? With the gift of creation bestowed upon the Dark Enemy, what would this mean for the Eldar?

Not answering the question, Eru extended a hand toward Feanor, a gesture requesting that the king come to him. And Feanor did, descending the dais gracefully, keeping a wise and wary and wise eye on Melkor's unpredictability.

With a wave of Eru’s power, the Simlarils were dislodged from the iron crown, the jewels floating gracefully to Eru’s hand. “Come Feanor. Come Melkor,” Each stood arm’s length from the Creator. “And now you each will swear an oath, and a very simple one at that. An Oath of Trade if you will. Feanor, you and yours will rule and preside over your kingdom, and no longer actively attack Angband or the lands of Melkor, and in return I will return to you the Silmarils. Melkor, you will rule your kingdom which will extend to Dorthonian in the south, the far south below the lands of the Eldar, north to the ends of Arda beyond Dor Daidelos, to the mountains and beyond to the fathest east, and all the way to the sea in the west. And you shall no longer actively attack the Noldor or Sindar in open warfare of great conflict. The the Noldor and Sindar must also do the same. In return, I shall grant you a piece of the Flame Imperishable of creation. What say you?"

Feanor and Melkor both gave pause, eyes shifting as they poured over the words in their mind's eye, each rapidly plotting while seeking out exceptions, conditions, and clarity within the terms.

“I accept,” spoke Melkor first agreeing quickly.

“Excellent!” boomed Eru.

A silence came over the hall after the fade of Eru’s echo before Feanor spoke, “More than half of all Arda is now granted to Morgoth?! Why is this granted? And coupled with the gift of creation and limitless power? What horrors will he now create? And what if he should attack us? I must then attack in kind. And this faithless one _will_ attack. Of this I am sure. I cannot make such an oath if I cannot defend my lands. And since he will break the oath, would it then be void for all parties? I cannot be held to terms that the Moringotto will not abide.”

“I will _not_ draw up extended written contracts brimming with clauses, conditions, and amendments. The meaning is clear. No open warfare of ill intent. Deep wisdom and great forethought there is in my offering to save each of you from terrible ends. You do not wish the fate of which I speak, Feanor,” Eru was firm.

Long moments passed before Feanor exhaled loudly from his nose and extended an arm toward Melkor in the gesture of oath taking. Deeply Feanor lusted for the Silmarils and he did trust the great wisdom of Eru. For this must be wisdom. Would it not be? Great doubts clung to Feanor.

“Glorious!” and Eru guided Melkor’s right hand to grasp Feanor by the forearm which Feanor did in kind. There they stood in the stance of oath takers, Feanor firmly holding Melkor by the forearm encircling the black brocaded sleeve, and Melkor’s palest fingers encircling Feanor’s blue-robed arm, the burned palm holding tightly. Both unwaveringly glared into the other’s eyes with distrust, mutual dislike, and revulsion at the close proximity to the other’s person.

Eru held the hand containing the Silmarils above the joined arms as he confirmed their oath, a tongue of flame above his fingers to confirm its binding power. He spoke the details of the terms, then asked, “Feanor, do you accept this oath?”

“To this oath, I accept,” spoke the king flatly.

“Melkor, do you accept this oath?”

“To this oath, I accept,” said Melkor.

“Then to you Feanor, I grant the Simlarils of the Trees and Eldar making,” placing the jewels into Feanor’s hand not still on the arm of the Dark Enemy.

“And to you Melkor, I grant a portion of the Flame Imperishable," and from Eru’s core, a wonderous orange fire emerged. It flew with a dazzling power to the staggering heights of the arched ceiling, roaring down too rapidly to crash into Melkor’s chest. The impact was such to not only break the grasp of the oath takers, but to send the Dark Enemy flying backwards by two lengths of a man’s height. The shock of the power absorption drove his being into searing agony.

He clutched his chest as he doubled over on the floor shrieking horridly as pain gripped him. He folded in to himself tightly and shuddered in violent, excruciating spasms of white pain before screaming wretchedly once more on an inhale. It was then that he emitted the most horrid cry of pure anguish. _Oh pain! Betrayer! Liar! What has he done to me? He seeks to destroy me now!_ Melkor gasped repeatedly with ragged breaths when the peak of agony began to subside. It was ten more seconds until he recovered enough to a shaky but dignified rise to his feet.

“Hmm. Yes, I have heard that the receipt of the Flame can be overwhelming,” Eru mused. Feanor stared emotionlessly at the Moringotto’s latent pain. _Suffer you beast!_ He thought.

Melkor suddenly twitched violently, doubling over once more but still standing, “Ahhhh!” he gasped as his body was possessed by another bout of wicked pain, although this second affliction seemed to the observers as less intense than the first. Righting himself but still breathless, he forced his arms to his side as he regained the composure fitting of a Dark Lord.

“Now, both sides will cease active warring immediately. Peace be unto you both.” And Eru handed the empty crown to its owner.

Melkor’s pain finally eased with the words of Eru. In fact, he found that all pain left him completely. Surreptitiously looking at his hands, Melkor was astonished that they were now healed, and his foot no longer ached him. Placing a hand on his face, he felt not the three scars. _What else might I do? Shift shapes once again? Level kingdoms?_ But thoughts that should be wild with elation were instead flat.

“Father,” spoke Melkor softly to Eru.

“Yes, my child?”

“You would truly destroy me?  Utterly?”

Eru sighed, “It would sadden me to no end to destroy one such as you,” and he placed a hand on Melkor’s cheek, “You must not act against me, Melkor. You are of critical importance to Arda. We need you. The world would fall into imbalance without you. And I love you dearly. But perhaps possessing only chaos without the power of true creation is too much for a Vala to bear. Perhaps a Vala needs a counter balance to offset his discord. You need this power to serve me. And I have now gifted this to you. The Flame Imperishable should help you and Arda greatly, and lessen your internal suffering."

"But understand this," continued Eru, "This is not a power that can be spent as you had before. It is a substantial and self-replenishing essence, and thus a great responsibility. You can expend freely it without fear of its diminishment. Your power will not fade. You need this, but be wise. Be what I created you to be, yet only do not attack the Noldor or Sindar kingdoms with open aggression or intent to destroy them as a people. It's so simple. I've made it abundantly clear. Look to the far East or South instead to fulfill thy desires. These lands do require what only you can offer. Heed me, Melkor," turning to the elf, "And heed me, Feanor."

And with this, Eru once again enveloped the Dark Enemy with the vortex of transportation, a spectral light surrounding his body along with the wind. Melkor felt the crushing, nauseating lurch of rapid motion and the disorientation of too much velocity before arriving atop of his dark dais in Angband.

Orcs, balrogs, servants, and slaves were frantic at the absence of their Master, “My Lord!” the familiar voice of Mairon sounded in relief, and the Maia almost embraced his master before stopping himself at such a public display of physical devotion to his Lord's person.

It was then that Mairon gasped, “Your crown!” and with a shock the Maia noted that the Dark Lord not only held the iron crown in his hand but that it was bereft of his beloved Silmarils! Yet Melkor was awash in luscious, throbbing power. 

“Yes, my dear Lieutenant,” Melkor placed an unscarred hand on Mairon’s cheek, “I needed to... let them go.”

“Let them go?!”

“Mairon, I have something much better now than the Silmarils,” and delight spread across the Melkor’s face, “There is much to do. For all of Arda beckons to be conquered now that I possess the Flame Imperishable!”


	2. Glory and Ale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I explore mine new powers and reveal bits of my plans for domination. Some different themes to pluck at our interest.

Mairon was troubled. His lord was in unusually high spirits upon his return, but clipped, cryptic, and reluctant to share the details of his absence. Melkor did reveal that he was summoned by Eru into the presence of Feanor. An Oath of Trade was sworn, which effectively exchanged the Silmarils for the Flame Imperishable. To any questions, Mairon was silenced or treated to laughter.

On the war front, most troubling to the Maia was the sudden retreat of the elves on the eve on what was to be a great battle. This was unusual. Highly troubling. The elves might was not unsubstantial, and their withdrawal unexpected. _Suspicious. Perhaps it is the elves not Eru that possess the Silmarils and they are now sated? Hmm. Likely. This was an Oath of Trade. He'll never admit it of course, my beautiful, prideful Lord._

Following the retreat of the Eldar, Melkor ordered the recall of his armies from the multiple fronts of combat for what he termed as, “A glorious victory and well-deserved respite for all!” 

 _Why?_ Thought Mairon, _We have planned long and made countless preparations for our great assault. We should pursue the wretched Eldar and claim the lands they flee in their wake as our own!_ Still, the troops and officers appeared grateful upon hearing of the Lord’s orders. Prior victories came at high losses and the armies grew weary.

A great relief and sense of glory was the general sentiment upon witnessing the elves’ withdrawal. Most viewed this mysterious move not with suspicion or cause to analyze motives, but simply as cowardice of the soft Eldar and a victory for Angband. 

Still, in Melkor’s mind, it was necessary to minimize any stray beliefs that the mutual withdrawal was, in fact, a retreat by Angband in some way. For this reason, Melkor ordered a great feast to be prepared with celebrations for soldiers and servants alike. All rejoiced when Melkor tasked Gothmog to spearhead the festivities. The balrog’s leadership in this undertaking meant that ale would flow freely and great fires would be lit to roast delicious meats.

At the feast, the Dark Lord of Angband himself was absent, now sequestered in his personal rooms. “For solitary contemplation,” Melkor had said, but the Vala was not solitary. Mairon seethed as he watched Melkor’s favored elf slave follow his Master into his rooms. _Disgusting._ Truly, the elf slave was nearly always at the Master's feet, gazing up at his Lord with honeyed glances and the batting of long elf eyelashes. The slave was born in Angband and lived the softest life that the Dark Kingdom could offer, far from the forge pits where most of its captured brethren labored. More a servant now than a thrall, Melkor had doted on it like a pet for hundreds of years even giving it gifts and fine garb, and the elf attended to its Master’s every personal whim and physical desire. It knew nothing else. He abused it yes, but far more gently than he treated the Maia.  _A pleasure slave of the purest sort. Scum!_ Strangely though, the elf had a dark edge to its being, a ferocious devotion and fierce submissive loyalty.

The thought of the unworthy Eldar now privy to the Lord’s most private thoughts and attentions infuriated the Dark Lieutenant of Angband. Mairon’s jealousy of the elf was known widely and he did not attempt to hide nor deny his deep dislike for the waiflike creature, often kicking it in the ribs when he had the occasion. Once Marion had stabbed it and was horrifyingly punished for doing so. He loathed it, but it did seem to make Melkor happy. 

_Patience. I must have patience. Melkor speaks to me always on all great endeavors, and will reveal to me his darkest plans for the Flame Imperishable, and we shall rejoice in boundless private pleasures! Patience._

Still, a semblance of patience was challenging during the seven days of his Lord’s isolation. For much of this duration, Mairon could be found pacing outside the Lord’s locked apartments. Violet light cracked from beneath the heavy wooden doors as Melkor tested his new powers with hellish eruptions of power. Frequent gales of the Lord’s laughter could be heard, and the sounds of love making were a nightly pattern, his master’s pleasured grunts of climax mingling with the elf’s breathless pants, shameless screams of ecstasy, and shouts of adoration. Melkor liked his lovers loud as they submitted to his dominance.

Also heard were Melkor’s sighs of obvious pleasure, but these were not coupled with the sounds of lovemaking. His Lord’s pleasure lasted for hours, and at times Melkor was screaming for extended peaks of ecstasy echoing for all of Angband to hear. The Lord  knew that all heard his pleasure and did not care. The continued auditory stimulation overwhelmed Mairon’s own passions at times and demanded release. He did on multiple occasions retreat to his quarters to satiate his lust alone. And others throughout Angband did the same.

 _Oh, Melkor how I do miss you!_ When food was brought, Mairon caught glimpses of the apartment in disarray beyond the usual chaos. _Was that a portal I now see? A portal to where?_   

When Melkor finally emerged from his reclusion, the Dark Vala glowed with elation. His entrance to the throne room was grand, throwing the doors open with a thunderous bang as purple light arced throughout the great hall to herald his presence. He was truly stunning to behold. Mairon was as spellbound as he was at first encountering the Vala. _Radiant!  Oh, he was so very beautiful._ Of course, to Mairon, Melkor was always beautiful. Though Melkor did return from the mysterious disappearance without the scars and limp, now he was more splendid if such a thing were possible.

Firstly, the Dark Vala wore his hair loose and long to his waist, a thing which he rarely did except when it would free from its bindings in the throes of passion. He seemed to have conjured new garb as well.  Black, of course with the garment coming to sharp points at each shoulder. At the ends of each collar two spikes jutted out savagely at either side of his head. At his waist, a portion of leather seductively split open when he moved to reveal a thin sliver of his palest abdomen. Publicly baring any flesh beside his neck and hands Melkor had never done. Doing so would invite enemies or traitors to stab or attack any revealed spot with venomous abandon, to slip a knife into that very crescent of exposed flesh low on his torso. It was simply a pragmatic decision to not expose any more of his body than was required. This seemed to no longer matter to the Dark Lord.

There was an air of shameless sensuality about him, even in the way he walked. He wore low hung leather pants with many silver chains about his waist and tall boots. No maille at all for protection could be seen. A crown of platinum he had created for himself, tall and brutally angular. His blue eyes had a physical light as well. Still, there was something more.   

It was power, and the Vala was overflowing with it, a throbbing ebb filling the air with electric waves. Melkor parted the throngs of onlookers as he majestically traveled through the hall and up the dais to grace the throne. The elf slave that trailed him now sat at the Lord’s feet unable to move from fear and love, head pressed to the floor with its fingertips brushing the edges of the Master’s dark boots.

Melkor sat silent on the throne for long moments, luxuriating in glory and he exhaled a barely audible moan of bliss. Breaking the palpable silence of anticipation, he spoke to the breathless throngs of balrogs, servants, men, orcs, slaves, dark corrupted elves, and other foul creatures, “Citizens of Angband, hear this all. The cowardly elves have fled before our might. They have abandoned their futile warring and left on the eve of our great battle. We in our triumph and armed thusly will rejoice, then pursue greater ventures to secure prosperity for our kingdom. Glory to Angband!”

The crowd cheered in reply, many lifting their fists, “Glory to Angband!”

Melkor continued, “You will see that your Lord no longer wears the jewels upon mine crown. The power of the gems I have absorbed into mine being as you can plainly see," he lied, "The jewels are now simply empty shells no longer worthy of Angband,” he thought his falsehoods were very clever, and that it was prudent to plainly acknowledge the absence of the Silmarils. Indeed, some of his more intelligent subjects would ponder on their absence given the Lord’s previous obsession with the gems. He also sought to explain his new power, secure further loyalty, quell any rumors, inspire awe, and reverence. His deceitful tactics were having the intended effect.

“With the power of Angband so great, the elves turned away in craven defeat. Glory to Angband!” the crowd again replied in kind before the Dark Vala resumed his address, “Now I join you for a second celebration of the Great Retreat of the Eldar,” he coined a term to give a name to the elves’ withdrawal. He clapped his hands, “Bring drink! All will taste the glory of Angband’s finest ales once again and mix these with drinks of plunder!” and the crowd cheered as drinks were served with great expediency. 

 _Excellent!_   Melkor leaned back on the dark throne, touched the tips of his fingers together, and smiled. Those in attendance were now talking amongst themselves in merriment as the alcohol began to flow. A goblet of red wine was brought to Melkor, and he ordered the same to be served to his elf pet. The elf now sat massaging the Lord’s knee and gazing up to him with obvious lust. Melkor beckoned it to kiss him which it did eagerly before Melkor pushed it to be seated on the floor for the Lord’s eyes landed on Mairon.

“Lieutenant,” spoke Melkor, “Come to me,” a long-nailed hand gestured for Mairon to approach. The Maia bowed, ascending the stairs to kneel before his Lord, “I have thought in great detail on the current matter at hand, little one,” Melkor spoke quietly, “Truly we have much to do.”

Melkor continued, “There is much to consider now, my dear. Though I greatly wish to pursue the enemy and crush them from mine earth, alas, I cannot.  For Eru surely is temping me away from his precious Eldar with the finest prospects. And temping they are to tease my closest desires. But the elves I cannot attack. At least not yet. For first, I must tread carefully.”

 _Carefully?_ At this, Mairon’s eyes looked up to his master. The Maia loved Melkor with all his being, and he knew all his idiosyncrasies and inclinations. Careful Melkor was not. His master was rash, passionate, bold, impulsive, and powerful. But careful? No.

Melkor continued, “A few things now before I reveal my great plan privately to you.  First, I have been exploring what this gift means, discovering its power and its limitations.  I can now change my form. Yes, I am aware that you know that I could do this no longer. But now it matters not! Still, I prefer this body,” and he ran the tips of his fingers along his sides and chest to underscore the sensual meaning of his words. As he did this, he moaned so slightly and his eyes fluttered shut for a brief moment. The elf noticed his Master's pleasure and could not help but stroke his Lord’s knee with more passion. _Curious,_ thought Mairon, _Does this power also somehow inflame my Lord's desire?_

“And, of course, I can mend myself. But this is but the beginning! With the Flame Imperishable, power cannot be spent. It replenishes always. And I can do so many great things, Mairon! Physical transportation for example, as can Eru.  Not just of myself, but of great objects. Great explosions of destruction I can release, more than before,” and Melkor seemed to stifle his words and give pause for a moment.  _Calm, Melkor. Do not reveal all in excitement._

He could of course previously read thoughts, but such an intrusion was recognized by the recipient. Now, he could do so without the knowledge of the mind he read.  But even still there were limitations.  The subject must be near, within the distance to the horizon at most. Other limits there were for he could not bring the dead back from the Halls of Mandos, nor could he coerce others into performing actions not of their own choosing for free will was a gift given to all by Eru. 

Leverage the power of reading thoughts he maximized most frequently, for during his seclusion, he explored the thoughts of his servants great and small. In the elf slave, his first subject due to the creature’s proximity, he saw only its blind devotion and dark desires.  In the flaming Maia, he also felt devotion, but Mairon’s mind was more complex. Something not unpleasant was housed in the Maia's being. Something mutual he also felt in his own fëa. A thing that he felt for Mairon, the silly elf, and Gothmog.  _Pah! Nonsense._  

He knew he loved them all and grasped that it was true fondness, but contradictory he was. 

To the elf spoke he once, "Here are the keys to release your cuffs, dear elf, but don't use them lest I whip you! And if I whip thee with too much passion, then only ask me to stop and I will concede to kiss you and soothe you. Still, don't ask, or I will only add more fury to your dicipline!" Even though the elf had the keys to his bindings, the creature chose to stay in service to his Lord and Master. It was a devotion so pure and so cruel for in Angband, all were mad, and the maddest of all was their Master. 

To the balrog he spoke once, "Gothmog, my love, I permit you to direct mine armies as you wish, but do not do without consultation or I will flay your skin."

To his Maia spoke he on one occasion, "Mairon, I adore thee! You can do as thou will to conjur the foulest sorcery against mine enemies! But you must not act without mine permission or I will disembody you for all time, dearest."

He loved them all and only required submission. Impossible asks and near madness. Such twisted, and mutual, passions. All shared physical pleasures and deep affections across a complex web of relationships under the firm rule of their Master. 

Melkor continued to explain his discoveries of power, “Thought you that I was in my chambers only this past week? Ha! I travelled! Both physically at times, and as fëa alone.  But not as you do now, traveling by fëa only to see limited images to close distances. No, now I have a clarity, a deep insight. And oh, the distances I can travel!  You would marvel. I have traveled to places in Arda unknown in the West.  And it is this now that I see the depth of the gift I have been given.  Oh Mairon, there is much more to Arda than what lies in the West! The East, little one.  Beyond the mountains of the dwarves which are now and always rightly mine own. All this Eru has bestowed to me. Such wonders there are to the East!” 

“The East, my Lord?” at this the Maia’s ears pricked, but such knowledge was unknown to him. “The Easterlings have riches in their desert I know,”  
  
“Pah!” and Melkor laughed, “Fuck the Easterlings and their desert!” Melkor stood, and began to draw a map. In the air. With a silver light. With his fingers. Mairon was in awe. “Here you see.” And he gestured across the great desert beyond the Blue Mountains to another second and greater mountain range. Pointing beyond the peaks to a spot on the virtual map. “Here! To Malgorian! And here there are no elves! And Eru made it abundantly clear that the lands to the East are mine own for the taking. He only wants to protect the cursed elves. He cares for little else. But there is much more to Arda than the foul Eldar and their trifling lands in the West. Do you see, Mairon? Do you?”

“Forgive me, but if you could perhaps elaborate a bit further, Lord. You not have spake the full words of the Oath.”  
  
And at this, Melkor laughed only to reach down to the still kneeling Mairon to tenderly cup his chin. Melkor then bent down to kiss his Maia lover, but only briefly. He also brushed a kiss on the elf’s mouth whilst he had he opportunity. _Look at my two beautiful darlings before me. How I desire them both!_ Lascivious visuals played across his mind’s eye, visions of both the elf and the Maia displaying their arses to him, with the Lord thrusting his shaft into one then the other. A twitch of arousal sparked in his loins. Although desire for physical satiation pawed at his mind and body, a satiation of a different kind also vied for his attentions—the lust for power and domination.

“Elaborate I shall then, dear Mairon. It’s the Oath, my dear,” he spoke not with anger, but truly to convey his meaning. “Privately between us,” he spoke in a hushed tone of a lover, “The Oath of Trade is both very specific in some regards, and vague in others. For example, it calls for the cessation of active hostilities toward the Noldor or Sindar,” he spoke this very quietly since this revelation did contradict the lies he had said before. He trusted his Maia with this knowledge, and did value Mairon’s council when it suited him. Mairon was often the foil of reason to Melkor’s impulsivity. The elf would never say a word of what he heard, so bound, overwhelmed, and dominated he was by Melkor. The Dark Vala continued, “In the Oath, there was no mention of other races. This was an Oath of Trade. A trade with the elves, and the elves alone. This is how I am being careful, you see. For we must adhere to the oath!”

Here, Melkor omitted certain aspects of his meeting with Eru and Feanor.  He did not tell Mairon of Eru’s threat to destroy him utterly.  He did not speak of the pain he endured after receipt of the Flame Imperishable.  In fact, it was the threat of destruction on which Melkor dwelt the most in his musings.  Eru’s threat affected him deeply.  Melkor knew that Eru would kill him. Yes, Eru would do so reluctantly, but do it he would.  Melkor feared this above all else.  He could not be reckless and simply attack the elves or he would perish.

Melkor’s eyes closed again as a wave of pleasure floated through his being. _"_ Uh! Ahh!" he actively chose to give quiet voice to his passion throwing his head back ever so slightly and opting to display his rapture to the Maia or the elf. Oh _, this is lovely. I must share this with Mairon. Eru you are so clever to fill me with pleasure when I tap my power!_

He spoke breathlessly and passionately, “Uh! To Malgorian we will go for greater glory and treasures. We shall make a mighty kingdom fall and have all Arda tremble before mine might! To the East!” he raised his goblet of wine and drank deeply in satisfaction and excitement at new and different prospects.  


	3. Practical Exercises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I ask Gothmog to hurt me to explore the limits of mine new recuperative powers.

“Stab me,” Melkor ordered Gothmog breathlessly, “For I have been unable to inflict sufficient damage upon mine self,” he breathed. Melkor stood unclad from the waist up in his own apartments, sweat glistened on his brow and wet his hair. He was panting with effort and apparent frustration after hours of brutal slashing to his own limbs and torso.

Perhaps to an impartial witness, Melkor might present a manner as one possessed of unsound mind, however his actions were a practical study to probe his recuperative limits. Or perhaps he was truly of unsound mind in the fury of his chaotic fëa? Perhaps he was simply evil? Or both evil an insane? He did not care.

Wonderously, the damage he caused unto himself healed with near instantaneous precision, but of imparting a substantial wound to his body, he seemed incapable.

Yet not an hour hence, a molar Melkor had managed to pry free from his own mouth in one horrific wrenching experiment. And Lo! It grew back!   _Still, it’s just a tooth. I wonder if an entire limb would regrow. Hmm. Nasty business that._ _And none on which to experiment save mine self_. Ichor streaked across his chest though he had cleaned his face and neck. The trembling elf thrall witnessed all these deeds of self mutilation in sheer horror, now pressing its body against the farthest wall in a futile effort to make itself smaller. _Why do you inflict such injuries to yourself, Lord?_ It thought _, And please, Master, do not turn your fury upon me,_ it was deeply troubled for Melkor did often vent latent anger on the Eldar slave.

“My Lord?” asked the Balrog, now standing before the Vala housed in his human body since a balrog’s fiery form was simply too tall to stand in the rooms, “You truly wish me to impale you with a dagger?” Melkor handed him his personal blade which Gothmog accepted, now turning it in his hands. Glistening with the Melkor’s red ichor, the knife was a gift from Mairon and wickedly sharp.

“Indeed. Please me with this action,” The Dark Vala grasped the hands of the captain and pressed the tip of the blade to the center of his abdomen to indicate where he wished the strike to fall. To this, Gothmog cocked his head and stared at him hesitantly.

A sigh of exasperation left Melkor’s lips, “Gothmog, I must test the extent of my reparative powers. This is a purely a study. A practical matter if you will. We must know our limits in order to perform skillfully on the field of battle. Captain, it is an honor I bestow upon thee to perform this task upon mine person.”

Gothmog did not wish to mar the body of his Master. The balrog also questioned the wisdom of such an action.  His Master looked up at him almost pleadingly and seductively, the upward glance was required for in a human form, Gothmog did still tower over his Master, “My Lord, with highest respect, it is not my wish to harm you thusly. I must also council that if there is but the smallest possibility that such a wound cannot be healed, the threat to your body and kingdom is real…”

“Do it!” Melkor breathed quickly and tugged at his arm willing him to act, “And Gothmog, don’t hold back. This is for mine kingdom, and I must know mine limits in order to triumph.”

“As you wish,” conceded the balrog, and Melkor dropped his hands to his side to receive the gift of pain, removing all of his protective spells. With a furrowed brow,  Gothmog lovingly draw his arm back to gain leverage and he plunged the knife to the hilt into Melkor’s center beneath the sternum with a vicious stab. _As you request my love._ The balrog hated this but would do Melkor's bidding for all time.

 _Shit!_ Melkor gasped from the horrendous impact and crushing pain, he then seemed to swoon and teeter unsteadily, adding in a soft whisper, “Gothmog... oh!”

After the knife was withdrawn, his knees did collapse and he fell forward into the balrog's arms with a sigh. Gothmog embraced him dropping the blade and Melkor’s hands instinctively covered the wound as it oozed the thick blood of the Valar.

The danger was real for if he lost consciousness, any recuperative attempts would be impossible while unawares. He then squeezed his eyes shut as he willed his body to heal.  A purple light began to glow around the wound as he knitted the flesh anew. Although he healed in a near instant, he was breathless and his form unbalanced. _This pain is a liability. I wonder if I can suppress it again as I did before?_

“Thank you, dear Captain,” Melkor said on the exhale of a pant before turning his head up to receive a kiss. Gothmog obliged. For long moments they embraced with Gothmog encircling his Lord with thickly muscled arms. Melkor's breathing was shallow and quick as he recuperated from the crushing pain in the firm hold of his beloved Captain.

Still he was relentless. Shrugging off the embrace, he walked a bit too unsteadily to a table flush with instruments of torture.  The Lord was firm and determined in his self-mutilating explorations.

Many tools of torture were cleaned, shined, and brought to his rooms for his enjoyment. Angbang had no shortage of implements of pain for his pleasure or that of his officers. With memories of horror the elf slave looked upon these fell objects with a familiar reflection, for Melkor had repeatedly injured and healed him many a time though the Vala was a poor healer-- until now. _I love you Master. Please service me!_

Melkor selected a crooked device that appeared that it could also function as a garden vine cutter. Gothmog and the elf watched as Melkor then made a study of his hands and sighed.  _A finger perhaps?  Which one? No. No fingers._ Curiously, he then sat on a stray chair to remove a boot. “Come Gothmog,” and the balrog obeyed accepting the cutter from Melkor.

The Dark Vala’s feet were pale and perfect in every way, “Just the small one then,” directed Melkor gesturing to his foot. It was clear what he desired.

“Master, I cannot,” the balrog was horrified as the prospect of amputating his Master’s small toe as part of a grim experiment.

Melkor frowned, “Come now, Captain,” he seethed with displeasure, “Cowardice does not suit you nor endear you to me. The time for hesitation has passed when you impaled me on mine own blade, you bastard!” And he slapped the balrog. Hard.

Gothmog gazed at his Lord after righting his eyes post recoil, “I obey thine orders always, Lord,” for after so many years of service, the balrog knew his Master’s displeasure was not aimed at him. Instead, he understood that Melkor only possessed displaced anger at the pain and more pointedly, injured pride for the Vala did nearly lose consciousness as he fell into Gothmog’s arms.

Melkor then pointed sharply to his foot, “In order to cater to your delicate sensitivities, I will choose to suppress my pain then to make it easier on you. Begin!” Melkor’s power flared in an experiment of pain suppression, for minimizing agony of this degree would surely be a boon in battle.

The balrog then reluctantly opened the cruelly curved tool, positioned it properly, and snapped it closed on the digit with a bracing grip.  Although Melkor’s chest heaved with trembling breaths of anticipation, he felt no pain nor did he cry out when hot ichor spurted from his foot.  Immediately he set about repairing the damage and blinding purple light flared from the direction of he wound. When the flash receded, a new toe was attached to his foot once more. It did not grow into place, it merely appeared much like the the restoration of his tooth. It took a moment for the nail to appear and when it did, it too simply faded into existence.

 _Fascinating_ , Melkor mused, _I should perhaps try a larger piece of my body next time_. A latent wisdom prickled at his mind that having his head cut off would not be prudent. Picking up the amputated toe from the floor he studied it. “Hey Carir,” he called to the elf, “Catch!” and he tossed the toe to the elf, an offering that was not accepted and met with utmost horror.

“No, no, Master, why do you do this to thine self? Why?! Stop it I beg you, Master! Please please stop!” sobbed the elf. Carir knew why his Master acted thusly but these actions were too much for him to bear.

“Silence!!” Melkor thundered and the room shook with the ferocity of his anger as he shot the elf a look of throbbing fury. His eyes were alight! _How dare it speak when not asked a question! Hmm. Perhaps witnessing these practical exercises is beyond what it can endure. Weak! I will discipline it and give it mine... affections later.  Ridiculous, useless creature. Why do I keep it?_ He knew why he kept it in truth. It was obvious, and more than just for physical pleasure.

He turned to Gothmog removing his other boot to stand barefoot, “Are the armies readied once again?” His mood quickly cycled from anger to lust.

“They are, my Lord. We await your order.”

“Excellent. Let me show you Malgorian,” he waved a hand to display what can be termed as a type of mirror in the air the edged with the purple unlight of his power, “Here!” Before them a kingdom came into view. It was a land of trade, prosperity, and worship of a type of deity. Gold changed hands, stallions were breed, and tournaments were held. All were well fed, and the gears of commerce were well oiled. It was a place quite unlike the harsh existence of Melkor’s kingdom, and the Dark Lord desired this land greatly, but first he must transport his armies there.  The land remained hidden from the West due to its great distance and the isolation behind the hard slopes of staggering mountains. Melkor grew aroused with lust to possess this kingdom. _After all, Eru promised it to me. I merely have to claim it!_

“I want this!” he gestured to the image before he chose to let it fade, “During my full assault of this heathen place, you will be with me as mine Captain and we will have luscious victories,” His cheekbones curiously blushed with physical desire and his eyes encouraged the balrog to embrace him about the waist. Looking up, Melkor kissed him with unusual gentleness. The Vala’s current state of arousal was fueled more by thoughts of glory than for the balrog. Gothmog knew this but cared not for he did love Melkor and knew that the Vala harbored tender emotions in kind, though Melkor would never admit it. They shared a deep, long-term friendship which offered the Captain some liberties, forgiveness for the occasional bold action, and even candor at times.

“It would please me for you to be at mine side as I cut through their soft, pillowed, armies and drink deeply from all they possess. We will conquer and rejoice, turning their neatly lined gardens of trees into fiery ruin,” he chuckled and purred with tantilizing pictures of destruction. The thoughts further ignited him.

Gothmog then stroked Melkor’s face and kissed him, eager to capitalize on his rare mood, “I would be happy to please you.”

“Would you now?”

The balrog now pushed the edges of boldness by tracing his hand wantonly across Melkor’s bare chest to his lower abdomen still sticky with ichor, “Yes, I do wish to see you fully satisfied in all ways.”

“True, the moment is practical,” and Gothmog slid his great hand under leather britches to the base of Melkor’s cock. To this he was rewarded with a hiss then a sigh from the Vala. “So bold! Do it then. Please your Master,” he whispered and soon they were writhing in shuddering effort to climax in full view of the elf. Melkor loved it!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I extracted mine own tooth, had a toe cut off, and had Gothmog stab me-- all too explore mine limits! 
> 
> I didn't describe the sex here but I will. Yes, I will. And we do need classic Me and Mairon Angbang. It's required. I will do it I promise you. - Master Lovely Times (Melkor)


	4. Entrance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mairon and I endeavor conquer a new land. Eru may have rightly gauged that divine pleasure might keep me from attacking the elves. For now.

“Mairon, come with me,” and Melkor gestured toward a circular portal he had conjured in his study. “Let us begin our game.”

The Maia was bursting with excitement over these past two days at the prospect of new endeavors. Long they had battled the elves, and though some sweet victories were secured, he grew weary at the relentless pace, limited tactical gains, and endurance of long, cold sieges. Now that his Master had rid himself of the Silmarils, an immense weight lifted from the Dark Lord for the jewels had driven an illness into Melkor’s mind. The morale of all lifted with their departure.

Through the portal, a warm wind mingled with the smell of date palms and cypress to flutter papers throughout the study. Many tall thin cypresses were visible beyond the threshold and the spiked spires of tower poked high above the sprawl of a city bursting with amber clay buildings. Melkor smiled broadly, “Oh this will be lovely,” as he stepped across the threshold. 

Following behind, Mairon trailed his Master. Traversing through the portal was akin to walking through a door. No strange pinpricking sensations nor swirling dizziness. It was natural, pure power and Mairon loved the one he shadowed striding purposefully and directly to the red city, “My Lord, could you perhaps share with me your designs? What know you of this place? What tactical capabilities have they? Who rules the Malgors? Do they wield magic?”

Melkor’s pace was dreadfully rapid, “So many questions, little one. I plan on… speaking with them,” he grinned fiendishly.

Mairon laughed at this in delight and flashed smile of his own for he knew that sweet games would be played. “Hmm. Yes. Let us… talk with them,”

Quickly they entered a pampered city swimming with commerce. Colorful marketplaces and many mazed corridors buzzed with the iron gears of trade. Few paid them heed except to endeavor to hawk wares, for even with their foreign garb and fey appearance, the power of gold was great. And great it was in Malgorian with the click of coins, crow of many animals, songs of women, and smell of sweet meats. Melkor smiled gloriously with wicked thoughts and dark desires. He was in a fine mood.

They made for the spiking heart of the city and gleaming tower where leaders must dwell. Doom and fell wishes in their hearts, the Dark Lords approached to bring horror. Guarded was the arched entrance to this tower for whomever ruled this land was a greedy lord who hoarded gold in cold company. Upon such guards Melkor placed an enchantment with a lecherous sigh of pleasure for they passed as though invisible.

Through the entryway and high-domed halls they moved by servants, courtiers, and financiers heedless of their presence.  At this Melkor laughed most cruelly, his terrible glee echoing loudly, but his voice was mute to all near save the fiery Maia. The Dark Lord instinctively tracked his way through a final hallway bedecked with the emblem of he who ruled here—two serpents twining around a cornucopia of fruits and grains to symbolize the devil of trade and hedonism. _This is an emblem I will soon replace with mine own signet of bejeweled crown and mountains three! Hmm… I shall have to adjust mine emblem to remove the Silmarils from the crown for they matter not! In due time._

At a great guarded entrance Melkor gave pause to edge in anticipation at what must be the core of the Malgor's kingdom. With a flash of his dark unlight, Melkor opened the double doors, but not with haste. A thunderous rumble of power heralded their entry as the hinges creaked inward at an agonizing and deliberate slow pace. And herald this action did, for all eyes of the pompous and painted court flicked to the figures— a crowned, Dark Lord clad inky black and a lesser but wondrous companion dressed in red and gold with hair of a ruddy color not seen among the Malgors. Their presence was ominous and drenched in ill intent.

Far taller they were than the Malgors, and too pale of face they seemed to the citizens of this land with foreign angular features, pointed ears, and eyes of hues not found in Malgorian. Both lordly, the dark one was the obvious Master of the two with the red haired one standing behind his Lord in deference. Greedy and lustful, the black one was thrumming with power and desire. A wrongness clung to the air of great hall, for the appearance of the pair dripped with foul objectives and violence. Terribly Melkor grinned as he captured the bubbling core of Malgorian with his eyes.

The apparent king of the Malgors stood in haughty indignation. All thick and oily girth the king was, flowing with embroidered white drapes, a fine turban, and ornamented with beads, superfluous feathers, and tassels that only added to the appearance of his great width.

Although started, he maintained a kingly composure, “Who is this before my kingdom and court? At present we are not expecting visitors. What is the occasion? How enter you now? Speak your names and titles if you own them, and declare your intent, visitors. For I know naught of you and clearly you have traveled far, for in my wisdom I do not recognize your kind. Be you friend, then Malgorian will provide our finest welcome,” and in a diplomatic gesture, he spread his arms wide for if this pair came in trade, then Malgorian would certainly welcome greater prosperity.

The Ainur understood the accented derivation of the cryptic dwarven Khuzdul language spoken though the Malgors were not dwarves. _Curious._ Ignoring the inquiry, Melkor answered no question and walked to circle and make a study of the golden room with interest. _Such great wealth and wanton waste, riches I could transform into abundant horrors!_ His eyes lit upon a rack of vicious scimitars as he passed and whispered his fingers on the weapons.

In fact, many blades pointed at both Ainur, paying particular attention to trail Melkor as he traced a slow and a winding path amid the hall. One young and bold warrior’s sword brushed threateningly along the Vala’s brocaded chest as Melkor moved through the staring throng. All watched the sensuous movements of the pale, dark visitor who emitted power and lust.

Time. Too long had passed since the Malgor leader’s wary greeting and pointed questions. Justly, this passage of time prompted another Malgor to press for information, “Your king asked a question, visitors,” this second figure gave the appearance of a seasoned and medal-heavy captain.

 _Mine king? Mine king?_ This is not a question to ask Melkor for his features twisted in horrific displeasure. Powrr shook all of Malgorian, a power with an epicenter of Melkor’s fëa as voices of fear arose from all. “I know no king for  _I_ am the King of Arda!!”

Woe to the captain who asked Melkor to call another lord for the officer’s hands were now clutching his head, a form which dripped prolific blood from the ears.  The horrendous shriek terrified soft onlookers when next the eyes seemed to withdraw into his head as two rivers of blood streamed red from the sockets.

As Melkor hit at the air with a pale fist, it was as though a great battle club pounded the man’s head. First the nose was inverted and horribly misshapen, then cheek bones collapsed, then the mouth ripped on one side to reveal the teeth inside. With a final vicious blow, the once captain hit the marbled floor with a soft thud. Dead.

 _Hmm…oh yes! Ugh! Oh! Oh!_  Melkor felt throbbing pleasure with each discharge of power.  _Yes! More! More!_ A pale hand he traced over his own flanks in shameless sensuality.

Sharp intakes of breath met palpable silence at the spectacle of Melkor’s evil. All turned toward the dark one who now locked the doors with a click of his fingers. _Trapped! Like vermin! I will drink deeply of your blood, foolish Malgors!_ Then, the Dark Vala grinned with sickening malevolence for he was in his ecstatic glory!    

Men of action rightly leapt to protect the Malgor king. One of them drew close to stab Melkor on the side of his ribs, puncturing the thin jacket to elicit a hiss of pain. _Damnit!! I must suppress my pain!_ And he did so before rapidly healing and easily bringing death to the attacker.

Alarm. "Mairon!" He sensed that the Maia was overwhelmed in fierce combat as too many Malgors simultaneously slashed and stabbed. Melkor bowled these over like a house of cards and sent half alight into screaming flames of agony. He cared not! Others he impaled with animated blades lifted from the rack of scimitars. Women screamed and pawed at the door, and Melkor snapped the necks of several with hideous cracks simply to silence their shrill cries. Guards were torn asunder, limbs flying off in unison and Mairon was now slicing through many of the officers with ease. After snatching away the lives of many of its gaudy occupants, Melkor cleared a path to his lover. He desired his Lieutenant and wished to press his hips against his lover’s.

“Hello, Lieutenant,” he panted, sounding much as he did after furious love making, for indeed Melkor was in wild ecstasy. Every flash of power sent hot waves of pleasure through a body flush with the throbbing drum of the Flame Imperishable.

This was not a subtle pleasure, for Melkor was shuddering in shameless delight, breathless, pupils dilated, and barely able to prevent his hips from angling to drive his rapture to climax. A hint of pink graced his pale cheekbones and he licked his lips. He was so aroused he could barely think, the slit of his cock dripping in his britches.  _Oh Eru, you really entice me with this… motivation so as not to touch your precious elves. Ugh!_  

With victory in this throne room endeavor so clearly in the hands of the two Ainur, Melkor took the hand of his Maia, slid an arm around his waist and they kissed deeply. The Vala breathed with relief as he was now able to press his lust against another, and he grinded his clothed erection against the Maia. Mairon loved it for they had conquered not with an army but by aiming at the gaudy heart of Malgorian.

Absolute horror and revulsion filled the hearts of all thirty remaining Malgors as such actions of desire between men were unheard of. Adding to the evil of their murderous rampage, to the Malgors, the sight of two males in lust was an unspeakable revulsion. “I told you that I wished to… talk to them. I think I have. In my own way,” Melkor tugged at the laces of his lover’s pant lacings, but in teasing only, for more satisfaction would come later.

“That you have, my love,”

Then flashing his eyes to those of the terrified king, Melkor strode sensuously to the trembling Malgor. Circling the ruler upon the top of the dais, Melkor stood behind him and traced a finger of false affection to his cheek, “And _you!_  " he whispered in the king's ear, his hot breath brushing closely, "You are not my king, for I am Melkor, he who Arises in Might. The ruler over all Arda!” and the king blanched for he was bested and fearful to his core at the beautiful, ruinous evil bestowing such terrible gentleness. In one vicious motion, the Dark Lord slashed his arm to the side sending a thick wave of power to twist the Malgor king's neck into an unnatural angle. Snap!  Falling in a heap, the once Malgor king crumpled to the floor with a loud thud.

Laughter filled the ears of all at the delight of this terrible Lord as he gloried in his unholy deeds and sat on the king's throne to claim the seat of power, "Can it really be this easy, Mairon? Can it now?" Though this initial victory was sweet, soon he would face an enemy that would flex his power, test his resolve, and play at his mind.

 

 


	5. A Gift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A leader of the conquered land offers me a gift. It peaks mine interest. We'll see what they have to offer.

For his next act, Melkor summoned Gothmog that very day, and the balrog brought legions of his foulest troops to this land. To the horror of all, upon the setting of the sun, the most unclean armies swarmed the city like swarming locusts. Terrible delight they wrought as they drank deeply of all the pleasures that Malgorian had to offer. The Dark Lord permitted them some degree of plunder for one night, but with clear orders not to destroy his new kingdom. _Let them have a bit of fun for tonight. Tomorrow we will make ready our new slaves, and explore all that mine kingdom has to offer._ Melkor gloried as he sat most splendidly in his new throne room, for pleased he was after summoning his thinly clad elf slave to worship at his feet.

Still Malgorian did have its share of heroes, and one stood firm against the usurpers. Yannis was his name of noble blood. Strong he was with dark skin and short black hair, choosing to wear but a practical vest and leather pants instead of the finery that clad his noble brethren. “From where did these enemies come? By what means?” he spoke in a loud whisper to his many followers barricaded in the armory one floor beneath the throne room. The marauding orcs did not pound for entry since other easier and softer targets were more temping.

“We know not,” his grizzled captain Greyson appeared crestfallen, “Our scouts saw no approaching army. Though how we could not perceive the approach of so great a number is unfathomable.” The Malgor captain had witnessed many battles and knew of tactics and great strategy. He likewise could gauge where failings were made.

Musing with a finger worrying at his chin, Yannis probed his thoughts, “True. That is a failing if we did not see their approach. Let us assess what we know so we can pinpoint a weakness. There appear to be three major players leading this enemy. They have a dark king calling himself Melkor,” Yannis shuddered at the unspeakable deeds of this horrible Lord for the king was his uncle left to rot in the throne room eyes turning milky in death, “This Melkor arms his person with no weapon, only powerful sorcery. He is deeply and cruelly evil. But no one is invincible, he must have weaknesses. One brave warrior did stab him, and I was told that the Dark One did show pain and he did bleed. Although it is unclear if the attack had any lasting impact, but he can be injured this... Melkor,” he spat out the name with sharp contempt thinking of the evil being occupying the throne but one floor above.

“Then there is the one with the long hair of fire. In fact, long hair they all have like women,” Yannis continued, “The red one wields a sword. We nearly overwhelmed him, but he cut down many. The red one and the dark one show sinful affections for each other as though they surely lay together. This unholy union of two men we could perhaps use to our advantage… perhaps we can use one against the other?”

“We could do so.  I have heard the name of the fiery one spoken as Mairon, and his rank of Lieutenant,” Grayson thought on the intelligence learned, “There is one other of rank. The demon captain with great horns and form of flaming fire. Thusly, he seems unconquerable, but he has another form, that of a human warrior just as we,” drumming his chest with a thunk for emphasis, “In this form, he might be vulnerable,”

“Indeed. There is one more vulnerable. That small slave that sits at the Dark Lord’s feet with a leash and collar,” Yannis’s face twisted at the thought, “We could capture him, and treat for his release,”

“Oh, this enemy is depraved! But I do not think the Dark One would trade his new throne for a slave.”

“We could treat with him,”

“Treat with him?!” Grayson wrinkled his nose, “What have we to offer? And he will certainly not honor any treaty.”

“We have this,” and Yannis walked to a pedalstal at the far end of the armory atop which was a dusty locked chest. It held the most valuable object in all Malgorian, and indeed all the East-- an object of ancient power no mortal could yield.

“No, Yannis! We cannot offer him that! That would be foolish irony if we did so! Such an evil being as this Dark One would only use it on us!”

“It is the only way. Oh, I pray that with this we can rid ourselves of these wretches or at least entice him to spare some of us. I do pray.”

And pray they did as Yannis brought the key from his neck to the lock to inspect the precious object. They prayed to their god of war and their champion. They knew not that their god of war was in fact Tulkas and Tulkas heard their pleas.

*   *   *  

“Do you think this is wise?” Grayson warned a determined Yannis after much debate among all.

“We have explored all our options. We will treat with them.”

“They will not now leave for any reason unless by force. You cannot think such beings will now simply depart and thank us for the gift. They won’t treat, they won’t hear us, and they certainly won’t admit us to the throne room.”

Yannis was determined, “Which is why we enter the throne room via a secret way and simply let ourselves in. And Greyson, I do know that they will not simply depart. I seek only that they spare or favor some of us,” Yannis knew many of the secrets of this keep.  Long had he played as a child amid the winding halls and hidden passages.  He knew well the concealed path that served as an emergency escape for the king—a dark spiral staircase that slinked its way up from the armory directly into a false panel in the throne room above. Through this method Greyson and Yannis ascended to leave their companions behind, hearing the voice of the Dark Lord grow loader with each step they drew nearer. Thusly they swung the hidden panel agape.

And agape was the mouth of Mairon when his amber eyes immediately lit on the intrusion and to draw his sword in alarm. Melkor’s eyes flicked to the streak of red movement that was his Maia.

“Peace!” Yannis held his hands up in a gesture of surrender, that and to clearly show he was unarmed.

“Speak! Speak and explain why you encroach in such a cowardly manner!" Armed was the Maia who lighted the glint of the sword on its target.

Melkor was simply amused. _Ha! Entertainment!_    

It was the eyes of this Lieutenant that disturbed the Malgors. Oh, the color of those eyes! Not natural! Amber yellow. Never had they seen one of such eyes and hue of hair. The skin was far too fair as though made of marble. Frightening!

“We come to treat…,”

Uproarious laughter came from the thing on the throne of Malgorian. He was a being of horror. Black hair, blue eyes, shockingly pale skin, and fiendishly attractive, but beneath this form was a wrongness that caused recoil. Such terrible evil! The dark one slapped his thigh in glee, “Oh Mairon, what a jest! They are hilarious! I am in need of a fool!” Melkor’s mirth only added to his terrible presence. Was it truly a horror this blackest king held, or merely a cover for hurt? 

Yannis set his jaw in determination, “Yes we are but humble Malgors, but we beg you hear our offer, Lord."

“Offer? Ah, fine,” Melkor waved a dismissive hand and laughed, “Only for I’m in a generous mood,”

Pleased not was Mairon, still training the point of his blade at Yannis, he spoke in Valarin to his Lord, “Their entrance in such a manner speaks of treachery,”

“Ah true, but what can they possibly do? They are but gnats to me. I’m sure their words will amuse me in their futility,” the Vala chuckled.

“Speak!” Mairon raged at this impudent pair.

“Great Lord,” Yannis did not expect his own fear, for the powerful presence and command of the Dark Lord was sickeningly evil, “I am Yannis from the house of the Malgor king.” He gestured to the body of his uncle still crumpled where he fell by Melkor’s will, “We are simply curious of whence you came, and also wish to take part in your glory. Perhaps we can offer each other something and come to an understanding,”

“What offer you that I could desire? For I have kingdoms. And from whence I came is clear for I am a God,” he petted the blond hair of the elf and at this, Greyson visibly shivered as an image of foul sex act between the Dark Lord and this frail creature flitted across his mind’s eye. Sensing the raw essence of Melkor, he knew that this enemy was very capable of violent deeds and unholy passions.

“I have a thing of great power. A trade if you will for we Malgors are people of trade,”

A dark eyebrow of interest twitched ever so slightly to betray Melkor’s curiosity, and Yannis was hopeful that the Lord's attentive gaze was desire for what he held. Or was it something worse. Far worse. _Is this interest? Simply amusement? Or perhaps this evil creature is plotting my death_ , thought Yannis. Under the piercing watch of the Dark Lord, he received the small chest held by Grayson. “I offer an object of influence, for here I hold the Cube of Guidance,” now he paused for effect and to drive interest, but Melkor was no fool and would not appear eager for he held the power here. The Dark Lord said nothing.

Licking his lips, the Malgor continued as he took off the necklace holding the key to jut it in the lock, “The Cube of Guidance is a tool that can help... direct others to perform thy will. To compel them to act. It is a counter to free will.”

At this Melkor began to probe the man’s mind for motives and lies. Regally he glided down the dais to approach the man and his companion as he explored the scattered images within the mental gate of the Malgor. Images appeared and Yannis's emotions were revealed to the Dark Vala-- a desire for self-preservation, a sadness for his people and kin, and fear of Melkor, of Mairon, and fear of this object. Yes, this man did wish to do the Dark Lord and his company harm, but he had no means to do so. He had no power. Only this object. _What is this gift? Does it do as he claims? Yes! The man does believe it holds powers! Oh, this would be wonderful if it truly does what he claims, for I do not have this power.  No one has this power since free will is a gift Eru. I want it!  Now what does he want?_  

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok so this chapter just ends a bit abruptly, but i wanted to get it up on the weekend.


	6. The Jest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tulkas arrives to threaten me. This chapter ends with a twist.
> 
> To skip to the sexy bits, look for the three asterisks.   
> * * *

“A Cube of Guidance you say?” hand on chin, Melkor mused as he now stood before Yannis and his companion, baring his weight lazily on one leg “I don’t believe you!” he spoke with a voice of crushing evil that contrasted with his fair countenance. His person was too close to the Malgors and pulsing with power.

“I do speak most true!” Yannis trembled, but was adamant.

Melkor knew he spoke rightly, but only sought to confound and distress the Malgors. _Yes, he believes what he says is fact, but is too stupid is he to know the real implications of what he speaks, nor can be grasp what is likely a deep history of such an object. Mortal foolishness._

“If such a thing be true, what rules surround its use? There are always conditions. I could pound such knowledge from your head, or you could offer this information to me freely. I do suggest the second option,” he sighed as though bored.

“No rules, great Lord,” Yannis bowed to give an appearance of deference, “Save that ownership must be willingly transferred from one owner to the next. Mortals can own the Cube, but cannot wield it, and no one in Malgor is immortal to my knowledge. So, we have held the Cube of Guidance in our possession for some time. I know not of its origins, but only know the legend of its effects. History tells us that the owner of the Cube compelled whole armies to leap from heights with soldiers jumping from a cliff one by one. High nobles tore their eyes out or hacked off their own limbs!” He did not add that all held the belief that no good came from the Cube, since always its owner used it for fell deeds. 

“Who used the Cube in your legends? Why do you offer such a gift to me, for I am the one who slayed your king and kin?”

“A wizard of old wielded it.  I know not the name. As for why, we are a people of trade and of honor.  We know that only a great gift would suit one such as you. As for giving it to the one who slayed my king and kin, I cannot undo what was done, though I admit it saddens me,” Yannis clenched his fists in rage at this sinful enemy. He continued “We seek an exchange in kind. Thusly, we ask that you be a just ruler for our people.  We ask that you not further defile our great kingdom, and not enslave at least the nobility for I am realistic and know that you may rightly enslave some of the lesser folk. Truly great one,” he flattered with this address, “We only ask that you be fair in your wisdom, and that you ensure our continued prosperity to bolter mutual benefit,” and Yannis presented the opened chest, “It is a gift for your greatness, to show our gratitude,” at this Melkor flicked his eyes down to gaze upon the gift.

Small this token was. Little larger than a playing die, the Cube appeared as though made of glass with a glowing liquid locked inside that shifted in parallel to movement. Melkor knew that it was the small things that often held such power.  _Imagine if I could command all at mine whim against their wishes—to outmaneuver the cursed Free Will of subjects and Ainur alike!  This gift could serve to compliment the power of the Flame Imperishable. Here lies a boon to mine majesty if it does, in fact, do what this wretch claims. If it truly is an object of compelled action, then where others have erred in thought and deed I could henceforth guide them to the right course of action. For this is mine divine right to rule over all Arda and lead its inhabitants. Hmm. I don’t trust these sniveling creatures._

“Need I know any more? Do you withhold information? Do you seek to mislead your new Lord?” and shewed blue eyes narrowed. Once again, Melkor probed the mind of this Malgor for clarity, but still found no falsehood nor deception.  The creature in true only desired continued prosperity for his people and for his kin to be free from oppression.

“I know only that the owner of this object need not physically hold it to wield it. Also, though the same intent can be applied to many, intent must be given to one person at a time. Nothing is withheld, great one, and no trickery I intend for my wishes are only for my people,”

With one final moment of hesitation, Melkor accepted the transference of ownership and seized the gift with great lust, “My thanks I give thee,” and he plucked the small object from its securement in the chest to study it, bringing the glowing Cube closer to his eyes as it cast a blue sheen over his face, “But if you speak falsely or attempt to deceive me, then the depths of your sorrow and suffering of your kin will be legendary,” _How incredibly foolish and naïve this Malgor is!  But perhaps it is simply that their culture is one of trade. I will honor a trade then._

Great laughter now filled the halls as dark thoughts bustled in Melkor’s mind, a laughter to which the fiery Maia joined, “If you speak true, you will see that I am just, fair, and firm. For I am granted this kingdom by divine order. I will thank you _if_ all is fair. I can be honorable if I choose to be, and thusly I will grant you and yours some reprieve. I will have five writs composed with mine seal and sign,” he gestured to Mairon to indicate that the Maia should pen the drafts for his signature and seal, “When completed, the documents will ensure security for you and yours to prosper, to move freely, and meet not aggrievement from mine armies or officers.  For you will see, I can be kind and just,” he nodded to the Malgor before renewing the study of the Cube pinched between two fingers.

Wickedly then, dark thoughts clouded Melkor’s being as a light danced across his eyes left to right then back again. “Let us do a trial of sorts,” he alighted with an idea, and his attention flicked to Grayson, the Malgor Captain.

The eyes of the Captain and the Dark Vala met with a palpable tension, “I knew it!” cried the Malgor officer, “I knew that this…usurper would turn the power of the Cube against us,”

“Against _you_ perhaps,” spoke Yannis quietly, for he required all five writs for his family with none to spare for Grayson. _Blood came before friendship in such a cruel world. Sorry, my friend,_ thought he and he lowered shameful eyes.

Melkor laughed again quietly and with the Cube in his left hand, he lifted his right hand with a vile malintent toward the Malgor Captain. A crooked and sinful grin darkened his face, a gaze that revealed a malevolence throbbing under the fair features. With a concentrated focus of thoughts, Melkor endeavored to compel the Captain to injure himself in a most foul manner with his bare hands.

“Master!  Watch out!”  Mairon’s warning echoed unexpectedly, and Melkor’s eyes widened.

“Ahhh!” Melkor gasped in surprise and sharp pain as his right wrist was squeezed brutally from behind by a mighty hand.  A hand too powerful to be that of a Malgor. A hand that could only be of the Valar.

Tulkas.

“Tulkas!” Melkor’s eyes grew wide in recognition and shock at the unforeseen arrival of his enemy, “This is most unwelcome! Stop!” Understandably, Tulkas did not stop nor release Melkor’s wrist and instead gripped only harder, “Ugh!” The hulking warrior towered over the Dark Vala with a powerful, muscular bulk that far exceeded that of Melkor.  Although the Dark One’s upper body was strong, other parts of his form were perhaps a bit too thin and in clear contrast to the Warrior Vala’s huge mass of physical power.

“You are most twisted, Melkor,” and as if to mirror his words, he twisted Melkor’s wrist and arm further to elicit a low moan and another hiss of pain, "You will depart from Malgorian, Melkor, and leave these people be!" 

“Ugh! You bastard,” hot anger flared from Melkor’s fëa for though he aimed to play a warped game with the Vala Warrior, his pride could scarcely endure the assault. 

Now a short, broad sword was pressed against a pale throat, and Melkor cut short his breathing, “What is this, Tulkas. Do you wish to give me death?” he whispered nearly disclosing that should he receive an unhealable mortal injury, he would not be chained in Mandos or brought before Eru, but cease to exist, “I am here rightly and was granted this kingdom justly. You have no claim by Eru to act to injure me. These are my lands. Eru has granted them to me,”

Releasing the wrist, the Vala Warrior jerked his foe backwards and placed a powerful forearm beneath his throat from behind so that now both blade and flesh restrained him. Though filled with fury and trepidation, quickly the mind of the Dark Vala whirred and rapidly his thoughts alighted on a plan to best his greatest rival. “Tulkas,” sensuously he leaned back to press his body into that of the strong one, “If you do question my actions, know that I act justifiably since I was indeed gifted this kingdom by Eru. Here, let me show you my thoughts.”

Carefully then Melkor revealed select portions of his memory of the Oath of Trade to Tulkas. Very deftly so as not to lay all bare, he opened edited bits of the memory to his rival.

_“My dearest Melkor," said Eru in the echo of memory he shared, “I have missed you. I created you to add chaos and to offset the other Valar. Great in power and great in discord, you add balance. Melkor, you will rule your kingdom which will extend to Dorthonian in the south, north to the ends of Arda beyond Dor Daidelos, to the mountains and beyond to the farthest east, and all the way to the sea in the west.”_

“What is this falsehood you show me?” boomed Tulkas, “I will not be swayed by deceptions, and I would know if Eru granted one such as you this gift! And should I wish, I would gladly usher the end of the body you wear,” he tightened his arm of steel around Melkor’s neck to which the Dark One shifted his stance to gain breath. His hröa screamed for oxygen.

“In this, I do not lie,” he whispered since his respiration was greatly restricted, “I speak truly, for Eru did grant me this. I know not why you do not have this knowledge. This is not my concern,” and a silence fell on all as the gears of Tulkas’s mind turned. Only the strained and rough breaths of the Dark One could be heard along with the quiet retreating footsteps of the Malgors though they could not escape the hall since all routes, including the secret one, were barred by Melkor’s will. Now the Dark Lord executed his cunning as he reached behind his back to place his hands on Tulkas’s waist. Such a move could be interpreted as an act to push his rival back, but the touch was far too erotic as the fingers brushed inwards tantalizingly along the large hip bones. The fingers then began to trail closer to their ultimate target.

It was a defensive move in truth.

With a grunt the Warrior released his captive in disgust at the sexually themed touch to shove him to the throne room floor. _Sick fuck!_ At this Melkor quickly stood to begin a slow retreat in the direction of the throne.  Wisely, a just and ready sword remained stilled at the Dark Vala, “Stupid, foolish Tulkas! You know I speak without falsehood but still you threaten me with violence! I will see you on your knees before me!” he taunted and seethed as his hands went to his bruised throat.

Tulkas approached as though stalking prey as Melkor continued his slow backward glide, “I know you fear me which is why you say such things. And why you seek to stoke this incarnation of my hröa with perversion.”

 _So you think!_ “Crawl back to your shabby hovel in Valinor!” he jeered, “Malgorian was granted to me rightly! You have no claim to oppose me!” Dangerous was the game Melkor played as Tulkas continued to approach for though the Dark Vala possessed great power, he could not now assess if it exceeded Tulkas's own. Melkor hit a heel on the initial step of the dais in his retreat toward the throne. Backing up the stairs would not be so easy, and Melkor was unarmed save for his power. Though great was his puissance, a sword would feel wonderful in hand.

Unknown to all, it was now that Melkor transported the Cube to a safe location deep within distant Angband. _I can use this Cube from afar that fool Malgor said. He must hope he spoke true if he wants to live! If not, no matter! For I must now be more powerful than Tulkas, yes? He can no longer bind me with the Chain of Angainor should he have it, right?_ Uneasy was his inner dialogue.

“My claim here is to answer the pleading prayers of the Malgors,” and at Tulkas’s words, the back of Melkor’s heel met the throne.  Still the broad sword shone brightly and threateningly. Melkor did not wish to have his head severed which would likely not end well, and sought to be rid of this sword!  With Melkor now pinned against the throne, Tulkas continued to draw nearer. With one quickening motion, Melkor willed the sword to wrench from the hand of its owner to fly to the furthest reaches of the throne room. _Success!_   Aghast was Tulkas at this power and audacity!  Astonished and angry he was at such a disarming for now Tulkas swiftly closed the remaining distance between them with a deep growl.

*  *  *

A great fist clouted Melkor across the temple with frightening force as the full weight of Tulkas’s body amplified the impact. Although Melkor could have avoided or even mirrored the attack back to the warrior, the Dark Vala endured it as part of his game. Pain was a small price for the entertainment he so craved. All of this was for his enjoyment. All of it! 

Feel the impact he did for upon receipt of the terrible blow, Melkor’s head twisted sharply to one side and the back of his head struck the high metal back of the throne with a great clang. Eyes rolling into the sockets, Melkor slid weakly on top of the throne, but he was not fully unconscious. Not yet. Even with the Flame Imperishable in his veins, Tulkas’s great blow was too severe to repress unconsciousness for but a few moments.

In the few seconds before darkness took him, Melkor rapidly transmitted suggestions to Tulkas—thoughts that Tulkas would believe were his own. Compulsions. Desires. _Look how easily you bested Melkor! Look at his body. He wants you. You want to debase him by giving him pleasure. Touch him! You deserve it!_

As he fell on the throne, Melkor was sure to entice by taking a few calculated risks. He ensured that his head was tilted back over the armrest to expose his whitest and vulnerable neck, that the left side of his chest faced the warrior, and his legs parted to reveal the slight bulge under the black leather of his pants. Finally fading into darkness, conscious thought left him with a sigh, his body fell fully limp, and a pale hand slid weakly to hang off the side of the throne. He was out.

“Kill him!” shouted Grayson seeing the Dark Lord’s arm fall loose.

“Get your sword and cut off his head!” another pleaded.

“Rip his heart out!”

“Bash his head in!”

“Kill that bastard!”

“Silence!” ordered Mairon, “Silence all!” for he knew Melkor’s game.

Tulkas also heard all that was said, but was heedless for the compulsions of the Cube and the heat of his own true desires overrode the pleas of the crowd. Act now on the suggestions Tulkas did for the directions were in line with his true emotions toward Melkor. Their fates were so closely entwined and purposes too  blended that such actions felt innate. It was natural to reach down to caress the face of his foe where a bruise began to purple, to brush a kiss across Melkor’s mouth, to trace a thick thumb down the bruised neck and black clad chest.

Melkor moaned now perhaps in pain or perhaps in desire. No matter, for the sound stoked the warrior’s desire greatly. _Melkor wants me even now! Even while unawares. See how his legs part for my touch, I will give him what he wants. Such power I have to transform my enemy into my lover._ Arousal pulled at the warrior’s loins as he wantonly groped Melkor’s body where he willed. Not often did Tulkas have the occasion for release, and he would seize it from the one he desired above all others.

“What are you doing, man?” called an onlooker.

“That’s the enemy!”

A provocative crescent of pale flesh could be found on Melkor’s form in his midsection where two sections of the leather upper garment met. One piece of leather served to cover his chest and a second piece the lower abdomen. It was at the juncture of the two sections that Tulkas thrust his hand to meet flesh. Exquisite was this sensation for the Dark Lord’s skin was unexpectedly warm and delightfully smooth. “Hmmm. Melkor,” Now the warrior pushed the enemy’s knees further apart and after a pause to savor the moment, glided his fingers over the crotch. It was only a few moments of light touches and exploration above the garments that Tulkas felt how Melkor’s cock lay and he thumbed the tip beneath the leather.

A quiet moan heralded the return of the Dark One’s consciousness. Hearing Melkor's sigh, Tulkas placed a firm hand on each of his enemy’s shoulders for violent protests were sure to follow. Follow they did, as Melkor continued his play acting.  He was quite good at such falsehoods of actions, and well-practiced he was for he thrashed about roughly in mock protest with a gnashing of teeth, feral eyes, and black hair flying wildly.

“What are you doing to me?!” but his wrists were held fiercely, and a heavy knee pressed firmly into his midsection in restraint.  Though he could readily escape given the power of the Flame Imperishable, this mock resistance was part of his plan. Indeed, Melkor was stoked with arousal at the unusual restraint—unusual since it was he that normally assumed the Dominant position over others. Without doubt, Tulkas's physical strength and immeasurable hulk far eclipsed that of the Corrupted One.

“Please do stop resisting, Melkor, for I do not wish to harm you,” and Melkor feigned defiance for quite some time, complete with biting, growling, kicking, bouts of power, and the like.  In this wonderful game, Melkor again projected lecherous images to Tulkas. Transmitted were depictions of the warrior’s mouth surrounding and fellating Melkor’s member, the Dark Vala howling in protest and defiant pleasure. The visions were tinged with thoughts that Tulkas was victorious! Giving Melkor such pleasure was his right! _You fool!_

Such images pushed Tulkas over the edge of passion for he now yanked clumsily at the leather lacings of Melkor’s britches to free his cock. The erect member was instantly in Tulkas’s mouth which elicited a wild gasp from the Dark Lord. The Warrior Vala without pause slid to his knees to pleasure the other as Melkor moved to sit properly on the throne.

Unskilled and fumbling were Tulkas's attempts, but the warrior was passionate in his naivity. Pleased was Melkor at the novice efforts. Skilled though the Dark One was in sexual arts, Melkor loved it always! _Yes do it_! It was incredibly arousing as the little bumps on warrior's tongue licked the slit of the Dark Lord's cock. _Oh fuck yes!_

It was then then Melkor met the eyes of his fiery Maia below for this was his plan all along. To Mairon he spoke via thought alone, _As I said before, I would see Tulkas_ on his knees before me! _! And so, now it comes to pass!!_

“Oh, Tulkas!” and the warrior cupped Melkor’s balls to drive only more rapture. Melkor leaned back against the throne, closed his eyes in blissful satisfaction, licked his lips, and gloried in his pleasure.

Still, Melkor had a more insidious plan for once again he compelled other actions from the Warrior Vala.  “Come now, let me now service you,” he was lecherous, “I want to. It’s meant to be. It is right,” whispered Melkor, and thusly Tulkas stopped his motions to assume the position projected into his mind. He bent over the padded left armrest of the throne to assume the stance of a bottom.   _Lovely!_

“Carir,” Melkor snapped to the elf slave, “Bring the phial. You know the one,” and the frail creature who had been watching with wide eyes complied, “Hmmm… I knew you’d have some on your person, slave,” he petted the thrall briefly while a heedless Tulkas remained bent over as though entranced.

Oiling himself and the entrance, he placed a finger at the threshold, “Do you want this?”

“i do” sighed the warrior, “For so long I have desired this,”

“As have I,” and he slid one digit into the opening. Carefully Melkor did this, for he felt generous. For now. _Why should I care if I hurt him? Hmm. No matter._

Tulkas may have never been penetrated for he was very, very tight. He was a Vala, so cleanliness was of no issue. They both were Gods. Still, even one digit seemed to pain the warrior. Melkor watched him with interest, looking to get a vantage of his face.  He slicked a second finger inside and soon began to scissor it with the first. Tulkas grunted.

_Fuck this! I’m going in!_

With another bit of oil, Melkor positioned himself against the still tight opening and popped the head of his cock through the tight ring. At this Tulkas grunted and threw his head back.

Oh, how Melkor wanted to ram himself in to the hilt, to wildly fuck him, to pound to climax and release, but he held back for this would ruin his plan. Again, Melkor sought out the gaze of Mairon and they both smiled. _I love you_ , _little one_ , he thought, and the Maia heard and blinked his eyes slowly in acknowledgement.  

The crowd looked on with horrified faces. Never before had any witnessed an act so lewd, so foul, and so _public_.  Should a Malgor perform such an act he would be unceremoniously put to death. To Melkor, after so many repeated sessions of exhibitionism, the display only further aroused him, and he was dripping with sinful ecstasy at the witnesses to this forbidden penetration.

Now Melkor thrusted inwards a bit more and began a slow, swallow rhythm. _Oh, so tight!_ And he slapped the muscled ass of the warrior and massaged the huge, tan thighs that seemed so dark when compared to the Dark Lord’s fairest skin. Ever so slowly, Tulkas began to loosen and relax which allowed the Dark Lord to drive deeper and deeper. 

Next the ultimate part of Melkor’s plan took shape, for he changed the angle of his thrusts and took to a shallower drive to strike against the warrior’s prostate.

“Oh Eru!” Tulkas nearly screamed.  Never before had he felt such pleasure, and he turned to gaze at Melkor who winked at him, black hair flowing free and wild around both their bodies, “Ah yes! Melkor, please!”

Here now, Melkor applied an old trick that he called ‘pleasure mirroring’ in his mind. In this pleasure mirroring, each bit of pleasure that Tulkas felt, the Dark Lord would feel it and revel in it himself, then mirror it back to Tulkas again intensified by two. When the victim would feel this doubled pleasure, Melkor would do the same once more to quadruple the ecstasy. Then on to eight times, then sixteen. And the Dark Lord would feel it all _plus_ his own pleasure!  This was the ultimate in rapture.  Still, the escalation would not multiply to infinity. There were limits, for there was a point where the sensations could go no higher. At this point, the ecstasy was akin to the greatest sensation of pleasure possible in all of creation. Supreme bliss!  Melkor loved it and closed his eyes in delight as pleasure consumed him utterly.

Tulkas was gasping and absolutely enraptured.  All the warrior could do was moan and shutter as he received Melkor's dark attentions. 

There was a slight pause as Melkor withdrew for a moment, then the pleasure continued.  

“Oh, Melkor!” Tulkas was a mess of ecstasy and now shamelessly thrust backward and angled himself to ensure that the cock inside him touched the exquisite bundle of nerves as he rapidly approached orgasm.

“Tulkas?” called the voice of Melkor distantly and the owner of that name opened his eyes.

Strange. The direction of Melkor's voice was not behind him, but in front of him.  Tulkas’s eyes found the source of the soynd. _Melkor?_ Some distance away and fully clothed, the Dark Vala leaned his back against a wall, one knee bent and one foot placed flat against the wall in a casual stance. He grinned crookedly and with joyful evil.

In a panic, Tulkas looked behind him to see what cock was now driving him to climax if Melkor was so distant. 

An elf. An elf who grinned wickedly at him was fucking him to the pinnacle of pleasure in place of Melkor, “No! What?” and now the warrior's hröa betrayed him for his balls were already tight as climax gripped him.  The pleasure was immense as still driven by Melkor’s power, an unreal ecstasy throbbed from Tulkas's loins to shake his body again, and again, and again! 

Now he could feel the balls of the Eldar slapping into his ass shudder as the hot warmth of elf-seed filled him.

When the rapture began to lift, the Eldar slapped his ass hard. Twice. Once on each muscular cheek. Then the elf laughed softly for he was gleefully complicit in this act of debauchery.

Laughter. Tulkas’s eyes fell on the Dark Lord, then on the elf, then on Melkor’s red haired Maia.  All were enjoying themselves at his expense and very pleased at their deception. 

“Oh, that was rich, Tulkas!” Melkor was scarcely able to speak amid his peals of glee. “And I do believe my elf Carir adored it when I passed you over to him! I do try to be generous as a good Master. And what’s even better, I’ve made a record of it all with my power!”

"A recording of this act?" all confusion was Tulkas as he shamefully righted his garb.

The sound of Tulkas’s previous grunts of pleasure filled the throne room though the sound came not from the warrior. Melkor had indeed made a record of all that went on.

“Shall I give this... documentation to all the Valar?  To your Maiar?  Or perhaps to your wife, Nessa? Yes, to Nessa!” _So wonderful_ , he thought.

“You sick bastard!” the warrior was a livid red, “I’ll kill you!”

“How about you simply leave us alone, hmm? For even now I have made many copies of the recording.”

The elf bravely and disrespectfully smacked Tulkas again on the bum before wisely retreating to Melkor's protection.

“Get out and never return!” shouted Mairon.

“Do go, Tulkas and leave us be!” laughed Melkor, “I think you know that is the wisest course of action. I’ll send your wretched sword to you. Go!”

Purple-faced and fuming, Tulkas’s expression changed to a more serious demeanor as he collected himself, “Melkor,” he questioned softly to be met with a raised eyebrow, “Why did you do such a thing? Why trick me thusly? Why replace yourself with an elf and document evidence of your foul and most evil deed? Why store proof of your own deceptive nature?”

“The answer is obvious if you but think for one moment," he tapped his forehead, "Think now. What choice did I have? You attacked me. You sought to break mine wrist, you put a sword to mine throat, you choke me, you threatened to destroy mine hröa, and you struck me. Right here you did this deed of violence,” and he gestured to the bruise on his face that he had not yet opted to heal. “Always the Valar believe I lie, that I am in the wrong. It is not so! I was granted this land rightly!”

“And were you not about to do great bodily harm to this mortal for your own enjoyment only?” Tulkas waved an arm toward the Malgors huddling with fear, “Were it not for my arrival you would have done a terrible deed to that mortal,”

“Your arrival was coincidental. Mortals are but insects! My patience ends! And you do not wish to see me angered for I tire of your presence. Begone with you!” a hand of dismissal waved.

Setting his jaw firmly, the warrior issued a pointed look of contempt at his rival before departing flash of his red power. Bested, ashamed, and confused he was.

Turning to the elf after the departure of the Tulkas, “Glorious, Carir! Excellent job.  You shall be rewarded!” he praised. Even Mairon who abhorred the elf slave agreed that the thrall had done well in this jest.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tulkas has just been blackmailed by a recording of a sex act. A recording done Silmarillion style. Imagine if Melkor had modern technology what horrors he would unleash!


	7. Clean These Bodies Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mine elf slave makes a bold move. Foolish creature!

Exhibitionism.  Melkor adored it!  “I must admit that was most entertaining what was done to Tulkas,” Mairon kneeled at his Lord’s feet, “Tulkas will likely not be returning soon.”

“Yes, my love. I do agree,” Melkor stroked the fiery Maia’s red silken hair absentmindedly.  Distant were his eyes as the gears of his warped consciousness whirred.  Many moments slid by as Melkor mused on the throne, and all trapped there stared in trepid anticipation and fear at whatever his next impulse might be. “Mairon, we need to discover what I have conquered here. I know that these Malgor rats are plotting already. I can hear their countless thoughts and schemes against mine person and armies,”

Melkor’s eyes were pensive for he could hear the echoing thoughts of his new subjects. This aspect of the Flame Imperishable was challenging. He heard the wave of thoughts as voices. Hearing the voices of all simultaneously was akin to parsing a vast deluge of information, and sorting through the clamor to pinpoint meaningful intelligence required concentration. To his delight, although he relished the chaos, he could switch off the ebb of thoughts at will lest their din drive him into madness—further into madness. 

Much of the thoughts were of no consequence, or were of simple and petty trifles. Most curiously though, he could also sense collective unity at times if the thoughts of many directed toward a common goal or focus—he could sense trends.  Thusly, he felt the tide of Malgor thought amassing toward fear, to anger, and a desire to overthrow him.  Many of the voices were ignited in fury by the actions of his marauding army. Truly, some of his orcish and human soldiers had gone too far in their pillaging and ravishing.

Now he willed a thought of his own to the armies and issued a command, _“Stop! You are done with your plunder. Rest, then assemble in the great courtyard outside of the tallest Malgor tower all at sundown to hear mine direction,”_ He paused to sense if his order was heard and acknowledged by all, especially by the simpler orcs who were blessedly free of intelligence.  They heard. They obeyed. _Good!_

Issuing a satisfied grunt, Melkor continued to his beloved Maia, “As I look to the West, I see that Angband needs some attention.” _Hmmm, mine two kingdoms, to the East Malgorian and to the West Angband. I need to set up a permanent, large portal to ease the passage of troops and trade._ “In Angband... there are…,” he paused as his mind explored the halls, thoughts, and actions of his stronghold, “There are… internal conflicts. Telvido is not managing their squabbles well.” He sighed, then quickly flipped to anger, “Incompetent! Fucking Incompetent!” he roared in fury shaking a fist to which a crack of thunder exploded outside. The detonating sound was excruciatingly loud and many shrieked and cowered at his anger and the incredible, yet superfluous, burst of impulsive power. At the discharge, pleasure thrumbed through Melkor's body for each time he deployed the power of the Flame Imperishable, ecstasy flooded his being. Still he was furious!

With an exhale, Melkor closed his eyes to still his anger at Telvido for he needed to direct many servants to serve him, “What slays me is how quickly Telvido allowed Angband to descend into squabbling without mine firm hand and love. Mairon, I see...  I feel… Much of their actions are driven by…” spoke he haltingly with still closed lids as he explored Angband from afar, “Hunger! It’s, hunger! They need food, love. We need to bring them some of the bounty of Malgorian, for this is one of my objectives in conquering this ridiculous and garish kingdom.” He gave voice to his train of consciousness, “Ugh! So much of this place is not to my liking. Too many colors and brightly painted dreadfulness. Too many murals, beads, feathers, and lack of purpose. I will give them purpose,” his face contorted for a moment in disgust and he shook his hands as though to rid himself of a sensation.

“Carir,” spoke Melkor an afterthought to the elf, “You need to get rid of these bodies,”

“To Angband with you, Mairon. Tonight I will send you.  You will need to go to apply a measure of discipline to some of the officers, and especially to that fool Telvido. But do only use the light rod. You know the one, don’t you love? Do bring it back with you when you are satisfied, and I want Telvido’s blood on it, and do make sure that some of the blood comes from his arse,” and he traced fingers of wry affection along the Maia’s jaw. 

“Yes, I know the cane of which you speak.  I know it… intimately,” a smile tugged at Mairon’s mouth.

“As for Malgorian, I require a guide,” he scanned the hall, “ _You!_ ” He pointed to Yannis who visibly startled, “You will make me a tour of this kingdom.  I wish to see your crops, your wares, your munitions, your riches. I wish to see it all before I address mine troops as they assemble tonight. Then the Malgors shall collect provisions and mine soldiers will transport it to Angband. I will establish a gateway between the two kingdoms. First though, let us quickly draw up your papers, Malgor, and give you the writs of my blessing. Then we shall begin the tour. For I do offer my thanks for your gift. Surely your king had a study nearby to draw up papers?”

“Yes, he did have study, and it is quite near. Come, I will lead you,” Yannis bowed with relief that the Dark One had sufficient integrity to keep his promise of protection. Although Yannis thought foremost of his family, pangs of guilt hung close for he knew that accepting the Dark Lord's blessing in the form of protective documents was treason before his king. But the king is dead.  _Yet, if I am favored by this new Lord in such a manner this protection could be a boon for my kin to secure greater prosperity in trade,_ his thoughts drifted, _Who is this Melkor? He spoke of a place called Angband? He spoke of magic. Of portals. Why have I not heard of this land?_ He stiffened then for Melkor came to him and took him by the arm to let the man lead him through the now unbarred doors. The touch of the Dark Lord on his person was not entirely unpleasant. The hands were pale, smooth, and imparted a current of warm, buzzing sensual energy as he guided Melkor away from the hall trailed by Mairon.

Silence. With the departure of Melkor, Mairon and the traitor Yannis, the air deflated in the throne room and the relief was liberating. Though the door was now open to permit the departure of all, some of the females simply crumpled where they stood, sobbing in a release of tension. Mingled with their lamentations, the gruff voice of the Malgor Captain Greyson echoed, “We will see them gone. We will!  They cannot invade our beautiful lands and take what they will from Malgorian. We will have this profane Melkor tortured, racked, and pleading for his own death! We will have the red Lieutenant killed!”

“Blasphemy! How dare you speak such things of Lord Melkor?” Carir stood tall on the dais, his leash hanging loosely bereft of its Master.

“Ah, what have we here? A harlot of the devil?” Greyson spoke quietly.  _No need to mince words with an elf whore_ , and he waved a dismissive hand at the elf. “Look what these fiends have done to our people,” The Malgor Captain placed a hand of sorrow across his eyes as he finally absorbed the utter horror of Melkor’s carnage. Terribly the throne room was littered with the gore of his people and the lifeless body of a king who had brought the kingdom to the highest prosperity.  _This Dark Lord would rip Malgorian asunder only for his own pleasure._

“Oh, my departed brothers and sisters, may you enter the holy lands in peace. Listen all, we cannot stand by and allow him to do this to our people. How could he do this?” his sorrow was aching, but soon flipped to anger, “We will execute this false king and drive his demon hoards from our lands! I will personally ensure that this Melkor will find death at the pinnacle of the slowest agony!”  

Such rage filled the fëa of the bright elf at the words of the Malgor Captain. “Sacrilege!” His green eyes were alight with fury and fist shaking with wrath. Quickly then Carir descended the dais with light feet to draw near to the one who spoke such irreverence toward his Master, lover, and fulfiller of all his physical and spiritual needs. A convenient stray scimitar was grasped with white knuckles—the floor was littered with dozens of such blades and many jutted out in curved spikes from lifeless victims.

“Methinks you are… misguided, elf” Greyson pitied the elf, but then added in disgust as he had witnessed Carir’s unholy actions, “Whore.” His features twisted for this elf was clearly complicit in and gloried in the Dark Lord’s foul deeds. Still, the weak and silly creature approached in fury now armed with a Malgor blade, an action which now prompted the Captain to scoop up a scimitar of his own, “Stop your threats, foolish one,” he sighed, “Come now, friend. You act in error or else you are mad like your Dark Master. Do not be the villain here for we are not your enemies. Do stand down for your defeat is assured. We are not evenly matched.”

The elf was not moved by the hollow words and bared his teeth as he raised his blade.  There was a power in Carir. A dark but subtle power of will. The puissance of unlight. Melkor’s power for the Dark One had gifted the elf with a sliver of his strength of will as he gifted all things to Carir. Always.

Blades met in a screech of metal. Carir lunged for his target and was pushed away easily. Again, he curved the blade in a slashing motion, and again the elf was repelled.  Quickly Carir moved around the Malgor Captain, and doubled his speed to confuse. Quite elegant, if ineffective, were the elf’s attacks for Melkor had delighted in training him in the most expert sword play. There was purpose in this training to ensure that Carir could protect himself from those that would seek to violate the Dark One’s favorite property. This proved to be most useful.

Though Carir possessed a strength of will, all of his attacks were parried as the Malgor Captain was simply more skilled, more seasoned, and physically stronger than the elf. Mostly stronger. Still no lunge did Greyson make.  No riposte. It was only defense as others looked on in interest as for over twenty minutes Carir lunged in futile effort.

“Stand down, elf,” warned the Captain. Panting and with sweat laden hair adhering to his forehead in wet strands, Carir was determined and furious. He fought for the honor of his beloved, and would readily die doing so. This Captain was a threat to Melkor’s designs and Carir believed that such a being needed death—a gift he would gladly grant if he could, but he couldn’t. 

It was then that Carir unleashed a surprise for so rapidly he drew the smallest but most vicious dagger hidden in his waist and jabbed it deeply into the side of the Captain. This attack hit its mark for Greyson gasped and his scimitar wavered. Capitalizing on the surprise, Carir immediately made to repeat the dagger thrust with the intent to drill many bloody holes in the Malgor.

Skilled was the Captain who, after many past battles, anticipated an opponent’s tendency to rapidly repeat a successful attack.  Replicating the dagger thrust was an amateur technique that Carir applied and it failed against such a skilled combatant.  Infuriated by the pain, Greyson’s patience ended and he wished an end to this silly elf’s game. Now on the attack, Greyson issued a powerful lunge that was barely deflected. When another slicing move was scarcely parried, a sheen of fear took hold of the elf and he began an unconscious retreat.

Flush with pain and bleeding, Grayson was merciless.  Furious he was at the king’s death, the invasion of his beloved kingdom, the audacity of the Dark Lord, the unclean acts, and the betrayal of his once friend and comrade Yannis. None of these things he could control, but he could control the death of this elf which would surely bring some measure of pain to Lord Melkor.

“Elf! You die!” and terror gripped Carir for he knew he was out of his depth.  Lunge now the Captain did with rage and grunts of effort as he pounded his enemy. Now raising the scimitar over his head, he slashed down with wicked force. The blow that met the elf’s blade was driven with ferocious force and enough power to crumple Carir backwards to the floor.  With terrified wide eyes, he panted in uncontrollable fear as he sat gazing up at the picture of righteous rage.

“Please no,” pleaded the elf. He still held his sword but knew his fate.

“Oh yes!” and the Captain thrust the blade completely through Carir’s body to the floor behind him with a sonorous ring of metal.  The elf did not scream or even gasp, but simply fell backwards weakly as the sword was withdrawn.  Blood cascaded from his front and back as the light in his eyes began to dim as he lay quickly fading, “Die!” and the Captain peered at the focus of his rage and wrongs against his people.

“What is this?” roared the voice of Melkor from the entranceway having completed the writs of protection for the traitorous Yannis. The din of a sword battle drew his attention from the nearby study before he could begin his tour of the kingdom.

A smile of pure joy then melted across the face of the Malgor Captain resting the bloodied scimitar on his shoulder.  As the Captain saw the expression of disbelief on Melkor, Greyson felt victorious.  He knew he would not be able to topple this Dark Lord, but he could injure him by destroying one of his treasures. 

Melkor’s fury swelled hot as he grasped what had transpired and that this Captain had so horribly wounded his prized elf. Carir was dying. Immediately the Vala sent out a beam of violet unlight to mend Carir, and the elf instantly healed with a low grunt though he suffered from the loss of blood.

The grin of victory grew broader on the Captain’s mouth as a revenge-filled plan took form in his mind. Wickedly then, he savagely plunged the blade through Carir's thin form once more. This time the elf screamed terribly and drew his legs up toward his chest in agony. But he could not move his legs closer for the blade pinned him to the marble floor. Horrible were the shuddering gasps and anguished cries of the elf for the blade would not leave to grant him the reprieve of Melkor’s healing arts.

Melkor simply could not repair him impaled so with the sword still through his body.

The Dark Lord stood fuming with quick breaths of rage, his fingernails driving hard points into the flesh of his palms. Blue Vala eyes shot to those of the smug Malgor Captain. Greyson knew he would now meet his death.

With his hands, Melkor made a strange motion. It was a though he held a small invisible doll in one hand. Using the other hand, he made as though to twist where the head of such a doll would be. Now Grayson dropped the scimitar with a metallic clatter to bring his hands to his throat. 

Strange now his neck elongated. Too long. It was a through the neck stretched.  All those in attendance that had still not left the hall gasped in horror as the neck grew longer and the skin at the front began to rip. For now the head seemed to be floating as the jaw drifted further from the shoulders.  With a wrenching motion, Melkor pulled higher the head of the invisible doll, and the Malgor captain’s head was now only attached to his body by bloody tendons and trachea. 

Blood shot in spurts as Melkor released him, head still connected but only by strings of gore in an unsurvivable horror. A horrible gurgling was heard by all as the Captain fell to die twitching with wide eyes roving. Only his head now had sensation separated as it was from his body, for heads do live for a short minute after such a removal.

"Don't touch my elf. Only I can touch it," Melkor whispered for so deep was his dark love for the elf.

With puissance freeing the sword from Carir’s body, and a rapid pulse of healing, the elf sighed in grateful relief as he gazed up to his Master.  The Eldar was weak, but would survive. Melkor did not soothe him or comfort him. He only smiled at his blonde slave and lover. 

“You did well, Carir,” as images of the elf’s memory danced in his mind to tell him all that transpired, “Rest now. But first, do clean these bodies up.”

"Yes, Master," Carir breathed weakly before he collapsed completely to the marble. 


	8. Angbang

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It seems I must satisfy Mairon's carnal desires lest he further lose his mind. And there is business to which I must attend, address the conquered and the hoards of Angband and such.

_Recap: Melkor has been given a portion of the Flame Imperishable by Eru in exchange for the Silmarils which were returned to Feanor. To receive such a gift, he has sworn an Oath which holds him to not attack the Noldor or Sindar or face utter destruction.  With his new gifts and power, he has discovered a distant and rich kingdom of men in the far East that begs for dominance.  On such a kingdom Melkor releases his passions, brutal chaos, and violence in ecstasy. Easily he toppled their king and his plundering armies took their fill of glory._

_In the absence of Melkor, Mairon and Gothmog, Angband has fallen into disarray.  Soon provisions must be brought to Angband, but first Melkor must address his troops and make ready his plan._

_Mairon has been waiting for his Lord’s attention and he finally receives it._

 

A great hoard assembled in the courtyard. Thronging and thick uruks, smallish crooked orcs, great trolls, mounted men, and creatures of horror stood in contrast against the bright colorful garments of the conquered people. Many of the defeated Malgors assembled in curious naivety to look upon their new king. Those gathered seemed to have organized themselves in two clearly delineated, distinct halves—the masses of Angband to the left, and the conquered to the right. Where these halves met, many groping hands of Angband flitted upon the curves of the Malgor women and men alike.

Eager anticipation oozed from all as they awaited the entrance of the Darkest Vala.  Too long did they wait, and impatience prompted the victor’s hands to molest the invaded.  Many shrieks rose up in protest as the mouths of Angband quickly added themselves to teasing hands of harassment. Longer and longer did the masses remain closely assembled with bodies pressed close and hot.  Growls of frustration offset the sharp cries of women. Disgusted yelps of the Malgor men echoed as Angband’s hands reached to their intimate parts as the waiting edged toward its furious peak. When the gnashing of teeth joined the tearing of impatient hair, the release finally came for a violet unlight showered the faces of all a shade of purple.

Their Master had come.

Here he stood from a high balcony in address as a furious wind whipped his hair like a black flag. So pale, fair, so sexual he was. Emitting a throbbing, pulsing evil, he lifted a white hand to still the voices of all.  The gesture was not a command, but instilled a natural action in every mind be they intelligent or feeble. One simply must obey. Such was the presence of the Dark King. The sudden contrast from heated noise to the silence of wind was terrifying and prompted many to clench their hands.

“Citizens of Angband, officers, soldiers, servants, and people of Malgorian, I greet you. Before you now is your king, for I am Lord Melkor. I come to you to unite our kingdoms, East and West, to bring us glory. I bring you together to prosper, to trade, and to thrive,” his voice amplified in power yet was still soft and intimate, “Angband has come to this land, not to destroy but to enlighten and elevate you. Your purpose is simple—to serve me. Obedience is my only request, and that your every action or thought is to keep me and mine exalted. Obey, and I will show favor to those that heed this single request.  Those that do not submit will be dealt with swiftly and severely, for I will not tolerate disobedience.”

“You will see beside me mine red Lieutenant, Mairon,” a hand briefly glinted across the Maia’s shoulder, “And here is mine Captain Gothmog. You will obey them for they act only in mine service and direction." No recognition was given to the elf pleasure slave that stood mostly obstructed within the archway nor the Malgor traitor Yannis who also stood thusly. Useless.

“All other leaders are hereby stripped of their authority, for you will now prosper beneath mine firm and fair crown. Malgors, hear now your direction. You will depart now to bring provisions back to this square. Each one of you will bring me a gift of sufficient foodstuffs for one week and ale. Each citizen will do this by midnight. A simple request. On the morrow, you will continue your trade as usual. Citizens of Angband, you will also return here at midnight and will not plunder during the while.”

“We are pleased to have Malgorian annexed to Angband. Welcome all, for we are now one, East and West, and all shall be raised higher as we unite behind mine kingship. Glory to Angband and Malgorian!”

Uproarious cheers wafted from uruk and orc alike amid the raising of spear and sword. Such exultation offset the awful silence of the most of the terrified and unsure Malgors. Yet some of the Malgors cheered in contrast. Strange.

Now Melkor turned to spin his hair around him in departure. Tauntingly now a Vala hand slid around Mairon’s waist as a black clad arm glided over red fabric. Thusly Melkor and Mairon linked together and strode side-by-side in unison deeper into the tower followed by Gothmog, Yannis, and the elf slave. In silent harmony the gait of Master and Lieutenant timed perfectly with both now wrapping an arm around the other’s body as they walked.

“They will obey me. These Malgors are spineless.  They can help to provision us, but will be of no use in warfare.” None replied for no response was needed.  It was true.  Teasingly the hand of the Maia moved his fingers against his Lord’s waist. A hint. Melkor felt this and rightly gauged the aching desire of his Lieutenant. _How long has it been since I’ve lain with Melkor? It’s like a famine. This elf needs to go. And I smelled Gothmog on the Master's skin! Patience. I must be patient._

So entwined were their minds that Melkor could sense the thoughts of his Maia. Indeed, the Vala could fully read the thoughts of his Lieutenant if he chose to, but what fun would that be? Melkor adored games, twisted unholy actions, and most of all, he sought entertainment.  In fact, all of this was for his entertainment across the long millennia. _Why not?_  

So, he teased, “I must send you away, back to Angband soon, Mairon, to fix the situation that has… developed,” Did he really need Mairon to go there to discipline and correct those in Angband? Or was it only to taunt his lover’s maddening desire?  No reply was made, but a red clad arm fell away from the embrace of the Dark Master. A pouting gesture. 

None spoke for some time as they trailed Melkor and Mairon. Ten minutes of silence tracked on amid the echoing footfalls of the five: Melkor, Mairon, Gothmog, the elf, and he Malgor man, Yannis. Earlier Melkor indicated his desire to see their gold and treasures.  Sending his mind to pinpoint its location, he frowned when he realized it was some distance away in a far wing of the tower complex. True, he could simply teleport himself and others there, but he opted to physically walk since he was flush with energy. After all the exploration he had done today touring the kingdom, what would it matter if he walked a bit more…

Interruption, “Lord Melkor,” the Malgor man, Yannis, spoke a bit unsteadily for he was afraid to break the thick quiet. Many in the party started at the break to their own meandering thoughts, “I have brought you and yours a gift.”

To this he was greeted to a scoff, “Full of gifts you are, Malgor. Do you seek my favor so obviously? You already have protection with mine own seal. And you have before now given me the greatest treasure in all the East.”

“If it is obvious that I seek your favor, I will confess it true, Lord,” downward the Malgor man, Yannis, cast his eyes.

 _‘Lord’ this conquered man calls me already?_ Thought Melkor, _This one I trust little for his loyalty has shifted too quickly_.

The mortal then revealed his gift, presenting a moderate size pouch he had stowed at his side, “This is a gift of a different kind, Lord. It’s an enjoyment of sorts that we Malgors apply,” Yannis gave the pouch to Melkor, and sensing no deception or ill intent from the giver, the Dark Lord accepted the gift. He moved the pigskin around in his hands to feel its weight and assess its contents. Still striding through the passageways, Melkor picked at the strings of the leather pouch.

Opening it revealed a flour like substance. _What is this? Milled grain? I have no personnel need for sustenance, and the Malgors already assemble provisions for Angband._ Melkor took a great inhale of the pouch’s contents to his nose to better identify the unknown substance.  It burned, but he knew it was no poison for the Malgor held no foul purposes.  Amid the vast warehouse of knowledge locked in Melkor’s brain, he held no familiarity of this grain flour and this displeased him.

“What enjoyment does this bring, Malgor?”

“It is an aphrodisiac of sorts,” offered the mortal.

Booming laughter rang from Gothmog, “Ha! And you just got a nose full of it, Melkor!!” he quickly added, “My Lord.”

Melkor was not in the mood for Gothmog’s candor, and the strike to the balrog’s face caused even Mairon to start as blood streamed from the impacted nose, “Right, well I deserved that,” Gothmog regretted his directness.

Blue Vala eyes were trembling with livid fury, “You need to hold your tongue lest I rip it out of your face and shove it up your arse, balrog!” It was nearly impossible for Gothmog not to laugh, but he did manage to stifle his chuckling. 

There was one who leapt on the Master’s accidental ingestion of an aphrodisiac with delight, as Mairon spoke to Yannis, “You best not be trying to poison your king. You will suffer an unbelievable spectacle of death if your intentions are such!” Mairon spat at the thought.

“No, no, my Lieutenant. I have no such intentions. It is truly a gift. Just an aphrodisiac… a very powerful one though,” he imparted a sidelong look toward Melkor. In all his musings, the Malgor mortal could not fathom that the Dark Lord would immediately introduce the powder to his body in this manner.

“And why did you think our great Lord would need such a thing?!” Mairon was fuming.

Now Yannis blinked at this suggestion that his gift was an insult as such a perspective he did not consider.  This powder held great value among the Malgors and they devoted whole fields to the production of the plant that bore this substance. “Truly I do not mean any insult. A gift it is only,”

More silence. Time passed as they walked.

“So… is it working, Lord?” Gothmog could not still his tongue or curiosity.

“Gothmog, I do think that you no longer need your head if you continue in your outspoken inquisitiveness!” Melkor signed, “No, this stuff does not affect me. I feel nothing except anger at your cursed idiocy!” he thrust the pouch at Mairon. 

With a light smile, the Maia knew that Melkor was either in denial or lying outright that the substance did not affect him. Through their bond, he sensed the growing arousal and rising core of sexual desire within his Master.  In order to share in the experience of his Lord, Mairon opened the pigskin bag and inhaled a great quantity of the powder. Quickly he lamented this impulse for the burning to his nostrils was terrible and brought splintering tears to his eyes.

“Ugh! What is this stuff, mortal?!” Mairon’s face twisted in disgust as he tucked the pouch into his waistband. 

“We don’t have a name for it. We just call it ‘The Powder’ or ‘Godo Plant Powder’. Nothing more. We hold it in great value.”

“Huh. Interesting,” and Mairon felt a little tug at his waist of weak and soft hands. Elf hands. The elf pulled at the pouch with an intent of curious experimentation.  Remorse came to the elf for a great chopping hand powered by the fury of a Maia pelted it in the jaw, “Not for you, slave! Are you trying to steal from our Lord? Treason!”

Paces behind now was the elf thrall for the party walked onward heedless of his ungraceful slam to the floor. Although he righted himself hastily to rejoin the others, the elf Carir was raging in anger at Marion.  Too often the red Maia would pound him, beat him, or inflict one of many small and large insults in his direction. While such injures would be a delight if bestowed by Melkor, coming from a jealous Maia, it was terrible. This mutual loathing must result in violence. Birthed in Angband, Carir lived for his Master and served him most faithfully. Such treatment by the Lieutenant was unjust. _I will get my revenge, Mairon. You will see, and you will beg me for mercy._ For a moment, a smile of wicked amusement slid across the elf’s mouth as he fantasized of the horrors he would inflict on Mairon.

It was then then that Melkor turned a sharp corner in the final approach to the treasury. Solid doors of steel minded by two sleepy Malgor guards stood to protect the glutenous wealth inside. How humorous it was when one of the guards gave a start so visible and comical when his eyes fixed on those of the Dark Lord. The blue eyes of the Black Vala were not in the disposition for humor for he grasped the neck of the guard in a crushing grip only to toss him aside. “Open it,” he spoke to the other guard who obeyed with trembling hands and nearly dropping the brass ring of keys.

Golden and oh so splendid the treasure shone from within lit by many torches. Though Melkor had seen riches and hoards immeasurable, the greed of the Malgors glowed astonishingly.  Short breathless gasps could not be withheld by the elf, and even Gothmog let loose a grunt of satisfaction.  It was then that Melkor once again moved his arm around Mairon and now the Maia gasped, but not at the treasure.

Burning, electric, and buzzing was the lust that vibrated between them. Simply too much sensation and desire flowed from the treasure room and through the two Ainur prompting Mairon to audibly sigh.

“Lord Melkor?”

“Yes, Mairon?”

Moistening his lips, the red one did not reply, and only reached for the keys that hung in the door. His breaths were overly quick. Amid the coins, goblets, jewelry, diamonds, weapons, and more they walked side by side. Only two Ainur entered holding on to each other by the waist in their usual style.  Linked yet again they were. Clear to all it was that the lovers required lustful solitude.

“Gothmog,” breathed the Dark Lord not looking at the balrog, “We’ll see you in the square at midnight.” With a pulse of puissance, the shuttering of the iron door was dreadful, and the rapid displacement of air rushed through the hair of all.

Hands held back by decorum were unleashed with a catapult of desire.

Rapidly then four hands sought out satisfaction in kneading the flesh of the other. Everywhere. Such desire exploded between them in groping and intimate feeling to find satisfaction in touch. Sliding across the mountains of coins, Melkor pressed his beloved against a column to force his tongue deeply into his mouth.

He sucked at his Maia's mouth so violently as though to draw the very breath from the lungs of his lover. It was aggressive then as he bit the lips, the tongue, and pulled so fervently at the fleshy appendage in Mairon’s mouth. By Eru, Melkor wanted his Lieutenant deeply, so ardently. The Vala was hazily blissful.

Two firm hands gripped Mairon’s waist with a bruising ferocity to pull his lover’s hips closer—anything to grind out the contact. Here now at Mairon’s waist the Vala’s hands happened upon the leather pouch. With recognition at the object he ripped it from the Maia’s body, “Oh this powder is most fine! Most fine! What I boon it is that we have conquered this foolish land!” Picking open the bag with a mischievous grin, he thrust the pouch to smother his face in a powerful inhale. Tossing it to Mairon, the Maia did the same.

Mairon giggled, “No, this stuff does not affect me!” the Maia repeated the words of denial that Melkor raged earlier. He did an excellent form of perfect imitation of the Dark Vala’s tone. Most amusing, but daring was he to speak so as the drugs loosened his tongue, body, and stoked his desires ever higher. Melkor chose to dismiss the transgression and laughed at the ironic replication of his voice before swooping on his Lieutenant again like a black bat. Now too tight did he hold Mairon’s jaw in a subtle punishment as once more he relished in the soft embrace of his Maia’s mouth. Pushing his lover hard against the column, Mairon’s booted feet skidded over the heaping mass of gold coins. Although he tried to gain traction, the coins were too slick and numerous, so the inevitable slide atop the mound of gold came quickly. He fell.

So talented was Melkor that during the fall he kept contact with the mouth.  There they lay, black on top of red in a sea of golden light. “Fuck!” a Maian voice echoed in the massive chamber as Melkor suddenly grabbed a handful of his crotch. Vala laughter now joined the fading echo of the curse since the Dark One did not need subtlety. _Mine!_

Shoving Mairon’s chin to the side to discard his mouth, now Melkor traced a path to the corner of the Maia’s jaw and neck with his lips, and here he laid claim to leave marks, bites, and the dark flattery of his love. Bold was Mairon propelled by the drug as in the theme of mirroring, the Maia whipped his hand between Melkor’s legs to grasp his Master's balls and cock through the leather. The Vala was achingly erect.

“You shit,” and a sharp slap flipped Mairon’s head. Of course this action would be met with violence and consequences, but Mairon knew this and loved it!  Mashing both of his Maia's hands above his head with the grip of one hand, Melkor crushed his beloved’s fingers into the sharp edges of a golden object nearly bending the soft metal.

A bed of coins and treasures was not a comfortable one, and they did not care. Such a location only added to their extensive repertoire of positions and settings for feverish lovemaking. A check on the list if you will. Though difficult it was to think clearly with the fog of the drug, both consciousnesses were mindful that they had never had relations atop of pile of golden treasure.

Releasing Mairon’s hands, buttons and fastenings opened, and clothes drifted from their torsos to liberate the flesh of their top halves. Strange circular marks patterned over Mairon’s back as sharp and odd angled objects pressed marks onto his skin. 

It was then that the second inhalation of the intoxicating substance punched into their minds and loins. A potent rush pushed Mairon’s head back so that his chin pointed up. With great interest Melkor explored his lover’s chest and abdomen with his mouth leaving a trail of marks and bites. He was entranced by Mairon’s torso, his nipples, the hair of his groin. Here lay a freckle he had not noticed before. And these marks here were akin to a constellation.

It was Mairon who now traced his hands over his own body for his fingertips seemed electric on his own skin. It was as though sexual pleasure could pulse from any point on his being. Over his person, his chest, shoulders, thighs, sides, and face he lighted his fingers. This self-stimulation was undeniably selfish and indulgent. Touching himself was theft and stealing from Melkor what he rightly deserved, and the Vala noticed. He witnessed Mairon’s touches to his own body and Melkor was _not_ pleased. The hands of the Maia were seized tightly and painfully.

“Do you not care for me, Mairon? You are lucky I have not a whip, though beating you with a gold cup would surely offer me great release, love.” No answer or reply was needed, “Take this off!” he pulled at Mairon’s britches for he wished to see him peel away the remains of his garments. Mairon did this still laying on the gold, his drug-dilated amber eyes never leaving the blue eyes of his Master. Like a tightly wound spring Mairon's cock bounced free to poke at an angle and Melkor flicked it teasingly. With speed the Vala gripped his lover's member tightly like a neck to strangle. “Oh fuck, Master, please! Please!”

“Please what? Please stop? Please continue? Please shut the fuck up!” he slapped Mairon's chest, but not with too much violence. And since the hand was on his Maia's  chest, Melkor pinched a nipple. _Why not?_

Now Melkor quickly unlaced the front of his leather pants with a lecherous sigh to release his own cock. He yanked Mairon’s legs forward with a bit too much force since the Maia hit his head hard on some hard object of gold. Melkor chuckled at the absurdity of this.

The Maia knew now what to do. He knew to embrace his Master with his legs, his thighs, his body. He knew how to position his opening rightly, “Do it, Master. I want to make you come,” it was a whisper and a plea. The pleasure was already flowing through them in rolling waves.

“You want me to fuck you, Maia?” Melkor placed his cock against the opening with near overwhelming desire.

“Yes!”

Again, Melkor squeezed his submissive’s cock with great force and pulled with gentle force on his balls. Expertly though. “A practical question now. Do you have any oil?”

“Always!” reaching over to his discarded garments he retrieved one. A tiny phial. It would do, and Melkor presented the glass and cork to his Master knowing that his Lord adored to apply it to his arse. Slowly now Melkor enticed the opening with the lightest tease, and Mairon could no longer suppress the eager roll of his hips.

Quickly then the cock of the Vala was at the opening and he opted to not ease in this time. No fingers. Just cock. It was nigh impossible for Melkor to hold back enticed as he was by the intoxication and lust for his red Maia. _By Eru this drug is strong!_

A small length of his shaft he pushed inside and Melkor’s body twitched. The drug was such that all inhibitions were annihilated. Here Melkor spasmed for a moment for truly he could scarcely restrain the crushing lust and desire. With a few short and shallow thrusts, he pried open the hole with his cock.

“Do it, Master please!”

A waterfall of relief swept over Melkor as he riveted his hips forward in ecstatic passion. Such pleasure throbbed from his loins across his body as spasms of rapture hummed through him. Again, and again he hammered fully his erection deep into Mairon’s fiery body. It was so warm. So hot. His knees hurt against the coins and gold.  _Fuck it!_

“Ugh! Ugh!” Mairon was a mess, his hips thrust forward with each driving slap of balls on his arse.

Their eyes were fixed on each other. Amber on blue.

Melkor was pushed past reason as the pleasure was immeasurable. This was a different sensation than he had felt before. It was a hazy, prickling all-body ecstasy that extended beyond just between his legs. His arms, his back, his everything quivered.

Quickly then he sought out that channel of connectivity with his Lieutenant to gauge his state. _Oh yes!_ It was the same with Mairon as with he.  The eyes remain transfixed.  Though Melkor desired to thrust and thrust, he knew what his Maia desired. And so reluctantly he held back the deep dive of his cock to poke at Mairon’s prostate. A scream of brazen pleasure echoed across the room of treasure for Melkor hit that spot so perfectly.  It pleased him to see the throes of his servant’s ecstasy. “Oh fuck, Master! Oh fuck!”

The body of Melkor trembled as his entire being shook with each forward motion. He could not hold out. He could not do as he did on most occasions to tease his Maia to a shivering bundle of raw nerves over hours. They were already there! And Melkor’s eyes brightly shone with pure rapture as his balls grew tight. His Maia’s body was approaching climax and the spasms of his walls started to clench in orgasm around Melkor's cock. 

“Fuck!” Mairon screamed ramming his hips forward, “I have to! Ugh!”

Prisms of pleasure or perhaps hallucinations crossed Melkor’s eyes as his cock began to twitch irreparably over the chasm of orgasm. Unable to still his usual demeanor, Melkor allowed himself to descend into pure hedonistic rapture, his hröa spasming in throbs linked to shameless moans of carnal delight. He rolled his body in parallel to his ecstasy as his hips swayed forward in the slower motion of climax. Linger he did on that precipice of bliss before hot spurts shot from his cock deep into the core of his most beloved. He growled out his orgasm again and again with each pulse of release.

Mairon was a quivering, sweaty disaster. The Maia's body stiffened beyond comprehension with pleasure. Shaking like a board as his form clenched, his seed spilled from his shaft. There they lingered at the top of grace in the most intimate hold. Then they fell. Falling, falling, Melkor dropped his sweating body on Mairon.

Aftershocks of pleasure tugged at their ragged, twitching bodies. Their arms circled one another so tightly. Then both Ainur shivered in post climax with hard and fast breathing calming into the afterglow. Colors trailed around the periphery of vision. Blues, yellows, purple, and reds pulsed around them. Mostly purple and red. Their colors.

Soft breathless kisses they pressed together as they lay on top the gold that grew warm with their heat. Lovely. 


	9. Betterment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I dole out just discipline to the Maia responsible for the famine at Angband. What hast he done!? Oh he will pay. Dearly! And I must send Angband some supplies. They starve due to mine Maia's incompetence! If you want something done right...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Recap: [I do my best to make most chapters readable as a standalone. Here’s an overview of what has transpired so far] 
> 
> Melkor has been given a portion of the Flame Imperishable by Eru in exchange for the Silmarils. To receive such a gift of limitless power, he has sworn an Oath which holds him to not attack the Noldor or Sindar or face utter destruction. With his new gift, he has not only healed himself, but discovered and conquered a distant, rich kingdom of men in the far East that begs for dominance.  On such a kingdom Melkor releases his passions, brutal chaos, and ecstatic violence for his entertainment.
> 
> In the absence of Melkor, Mairon and Gothmog, Angband has fallen into disarray. Poorly Telvido had stewarded Angband and soon provisions must be brought to the stronghold from this conquered kingdom.
> 
> Melkor is not pleased with Telvido, and retribution is in order.

 

“They have done well,” Melkor mused as he gazed at his armies laboring to assemble the provisions brought by the conquered. Not high atop the tower, he stood instead at the front lines of action with Mairon and Gothmog, “Very well indeed,” for the many heaps of grain, animal carcasses, exotic fruits, and more would satiate Angband for weeks.  Though herds of grazing animals filled the tundra around Angband, the growing season was short, and famine was common. This time was different as the starvation was so critically dire, he sensed that riots would erupt and lead to inevitable cannibalism. _But no more.  I have justly conquered this pompous and gaudy land, and I will provide for all mine servants and soldiers in glory. But why did Telvido allow Angband to slip into famine in mine absence? We were well provisioned. The fool!_

“The supplies are ready for transport,” a dark elf sergeant bowed to Gothmog for among Melkor’s many servants were several dark, corrupted Eldar drawn to his power.

Grunting his thanks, the balrog issued his orders, “Bring the carts here while your Lord makes ready the portal to Angband,” Gothmog waved a hand of dismissal at the elf.

The reprovisioning of Angband was nigh. Knowing that his Lord would soon depart compelled arcs of sorrow to flow through Mairon’s fëa. With such a recent victory, the red Maia was commanded not to accompany his Lord back to Angband, but to stay in the conquered land lest a rebellion arise. This was a task the Mairon did not savor since it meant separation from his beloved over vast distances. With a heavy sigh, he stilled his heart as the absence of his Master would likely be short. Melkor needed Mairon to complete him and the Vala was dangerously self-destructive and impulsive without his Maia’s quieting and methodical hand.

It was with a burning amber eye that Mairon beheld the blonde hair of the pleasure elf nearing a cart bound for Angband. Clearly the elf had intentions to accompany its Master to the stronghold. As it ascended a wagon, the eyes of elf and Maia happened upon each other. Crookedly the Eldar smiled with a murmur of clear defiance and challenge. To this, Mairon made clear his displeasure with a scowl. _Oh, but you will die terribly, elf! Why do you goad me when you would surely be bested in any contest? But now is not the time for such combat._

Indeed, the departure to Angband drew near as the Dark Vala paced with uneasy energy about the courtyard to gauge where to place the portal of transportation. Requisite was a gateway between the two kingdoms of Angband to the West and Malgorian to the East for the distance between the captured land and his stronghold was great. Furiously he paced for Melkor had to not only assess where and how to place the entrance of the doorway here in Malgorian, but also where to manifest its twin exit in Angband. _Hmmm. A portal the width and height of three carts should suffice to allow the transport of goods. And near the east side of Angband I see a piece of flat land with sufficient roads to move supplies_ , he mused.

On an exhale, he sent out his will to conjure the gateway between the two lands. With such an expression of power, a thunderous crack and terrible wind smacked the air mixed with the unlight of his power. At this display and throb, many of the weaker servants cowered to the dirt in dread.  Then the portal simply… was.  A thing of pulsing puissance it was, a mirror ringed in the violent glow of his being. A thing through which armies and foodstuffs could traverse to feed the hungry mouths of Angband. Before the newly formed doorway, he stood tall and dark as all stared at the glowing, black silhouette of his body.

Melkor was the first to walk through alone, and all continued to gaze upon his departure and the sensual manner of his gait. A certain feline Maia needed his personal ministrations in Angband.  Although Mairon was originally tasked with assessing the damage of starvation in Angband, Melkor now chose to grant Telvido his dearest attentions himself. Now through the portal but still visible, he snapped his fingers—a gesture which Gothmog knew indicated that he bring the carts of goods through the threshold. He complied and urged the trolls to pull forward.

 _Methinks I have only explored a portion of mine new power,_ he thought in self reflection as he walked toward the tower, _Perhaps, more discovery and great destructive feats are in order._ He thought of the other Vala and of his brother in particular. Vengeance. Although forbidden from attacking the Noldor and Sindar, there were other elves which were not banned from his dark annihilation.  Men, and dwarves he could also give his black love.

It was then that like a whip, a terrible stench oiled through the cold air. So foul it was to interrupt his thoughts of retribution and enslavement, it prompted his head to swivel for its source.  As he trod on, the origin of the foul odor revealed itself in its stinking glory for he approached the lifeless shell of a troll. A large troll. A large yet somehow shriveled troll, but the beast was not withered in death.  It had shrunken in life and it was achingly clear that it had died in agonized starvation. 

“Telvido!!” he called, and the ground trembled to shake even the great wooden wheels of the wagons that trailed his lead.  Swiftly then a black clad boot kicked the troll corpse in furious wrath to release a black smoke of flies and spilling squirts of wriggling maggots from within. “Telvido!!” _That cat will be skinned slowly!_ But no answer came. Surely Telvido must have heard the voice of his Master since it echoed across both of his kingdoms.

Slamming open the east gates of the tower with an explosive bang, all citizens of Angband felt the eminent approach of their Lord. Thusly, a pod of uruks came to greet their Master in welcome, “My Lord,” hailed their leader as he bowed low, but soon the orc’s eyes lit upon the wagons of provisions in obvious hunger.

Melkor nodded to the orc and continued in the direction of the east tower entrance where the kitchens and dry storage lay. Gothmog and his soldiers made quick work to shelve the many provisions and riches of Malgorian, and soon the word of the bounty spread among Angband’s residents as the kitchen fires lit.  Officers and soldiers were commanded to go to the Great Hall where they ate and gathered instead of the throne room. They knew they were to feast, and excitement amplified manifold at this prospect. Melkor had a perch in the hall when he chose to dwell in the room, and he assumed the throne that headed the hall with his balrog Captain and elf pet at hand.  The Malgor man, Yannis, had accompanied them from his native land more out of curiosity than compulsion or necessity. 

Wisely the Dark Vala knew to hold his address until his soldiers and servants had sated their ravenous bellies with the delicacies of plunder. _Shame though, such creatures would never appreciate the finer foodstuffs. It’s like giving an excellent cut of meat to a cat. A cat!_ He growled, “Where is Telvido?!” he asked of a dark elf who sat at a close table.

“He said he will join shortly, my Lord,” the elf had stood to answer and bowed. A wicked scar carved down this elf’s face from some battle, a battle in which he was clearly the victor for he still lived.

“Any news of the captive Thuringwethil?" Melkor flipped to the topic of his imprisoned Maia as was his nature, "She needs some discipline for allowing her foolish imprisonment by the elves,”

“I know not, my Lord,”

“Hmmph! Incompetence,” and Melkor set forth the tendrils of his thought to the topic at hand, to locate his errant Maia Telvido. His blue physical eyes moved in parallel to the exploration of his fëa through the dark halls and horrors of Angband. Rapidly then his mind darted through passages high, low, and deep before fixing on the form of Telvido in human form. He was nearby. Clothed in black velvet with black hair tied back, Telvido cowered in a seldom used spiral staircase only two floors above. “Telvido,” the walls purred with the voice of their Master, “Why do you hide?” the Maia trembled terribly, “Come to me,” Melkor’s tone was a coy command to which Telvido had to submit.

“Yes, Lord,” he did not look up as he stood to obey. Satisfied, Melkor let his presence melt away from the staircase as Telvido shuddered in terror. Slowly and with deep trepidation, he began the short journey to join his Lord.

Cheers filled the Great Hall with the serving of food and ale. So ravenous were many that some regurgitated when sustenance finally filled their guts.  Despite their hunger, there were those who crinkled their noses at the foreign fruits and meats in disgust, but anything cast aside was quickly consumed with the greed of starvation.

“Gothmog, you shall need to perform an assessment of troops to determine how many were lost.”

“Yes, I can see from the numbers here that some have perished or are suspiciously absent without leave. I’m sure we can round up any deserters and burn the bodies of those that died,”

“Indeed,” and Melkor was given a tankard of his favorite wine. He scanned for his elf, and found him now at a nearby table in cheerful discourse with his dark brethren. _I will leave him be. For now._ He smiled with overt lasciviousness and caught the elf’s eye. He knew. They both knew. Later.

Another now caught the attention of his Lord. Telvido had come.

Standing tall and demanding command, Melkor raised his hand to silence the crowd in the Great Hall. After a few moments of diminishing din, voices stilled though they continued to eat and drink with abandon.

“I bring you bounty from the conquered land to the East. This kingdom called Malgorian I have annexed to mine own in Angband. Near the east gate I have established a permanent, yet guarded, gateway between the two kingdoms,” Melkor ensured that his voice also transmuted into the very walls so that all those not present, solider and servant alike, could hear of his victory, “Great riches now add to the might of Angband, and we shall conquer yet more lands to the far East and far South as is mine right. We shall prosper and trade and thrive to the heights of splendor!”

“Yet something troubles me,” he brought a clawed finger to his chin, “That you felt hunger concerns me,” blue eyes lit with fury slid toward Telvido who alone stood between the center aisle of tables. “Telvido!” he thundered, “How could this come to pass? The affairs of Angband were in order when I left. You were well provisioned. How could the seat of mine power come to hunger so quickly?”

Telvido gave the appearance of a contrite child as his mind whirred to either manufacture an answer or speak truly. He wisely chose to speak truly for he knew the depth of his Master’s might, a power that now topped heights beyond reason as never before. The mightiest of the Vala was Melkor and he was just teasing the edges of what he was now capable—and capable he was of shredding this Maia’s mind and body into shards of insanity and pain if it pleased him.

“I...,” Telvido exhaled loudly and time passed. Melkor allowed him time. Some time, but still the Vala’s hands gripped the throne’s armrest, “I... _We_ celebrated,” the Maia admitted.

“Celebrated? Go on,”

“We celebrated and feasted, and depleted our stores,”

“Mine stores, you mean. It must have been a truly hedonistic and debauched celebration to drain _all_ of mine stores. A celebration to which you did not extend your Lord an invitation. Dare I look in our coffers?”

The green eyes of the Maia fell to the floor, for he had spent a substantial amount of gold and selfishly raided their potent medicines as well to intoxicate himself. Still he knew that Melkor’s questions were never rhetorical and demanded reply, “A good third of the coffers have been… divested.”

“Divested?” now Melkor stood with a dangerous glint in his eye. Luckily, he now had resources to tap from the conquered land of Malgorian. Had he not, this depletion would have been disastrous for his kingdom. Winters in Angband were brutal, and he now was forbidden from harassing money and provisions in violence from the elves. “Telvido, what would you recommend I do with you?”

Again, an answer was required, “I must be... reprimanded,”

“Punish you? Yes.” Melkor drew close to the stricken Maia and traced his hand on his abdomen, then his side, then his backside, then his other side as he circled in threateningly yet enticingly. With a sort of ironic humor, he sent visions and sensations of arousal to Telvido to make it so much worse and humiliating, “Punish you? Not kill you, you say?”

“Yes, punish me. I still wish to serve you,”

“Yet you stole from me. This action is an insult. Do you agree?” Melkor’s fury stoked higher.

“Yes,” Telvido trembled.

“Do I need to discipline anyone else?”

“Just me, Angband was my charge, and I failed, Lord. I failed.”

“Yes, You did!” and Melkor’s tender viciousness was unleashed for he grabbed the Maia's black hair and dragged him staggeringly to the throne. With a cutting motion of his fingers, he severed Telvido’s waist-length hair to a jagged chin-length fray. Humiliation. Telvido knew where he was taken, to the manacles that hung on the wall some paces to the left of the throne. The cuffs were on the platform of the dais since Melkor always wanted all to share in his entertainment.  Strangely though, in all his years of service, Telvido was the only Maia who had never been publicly disciplined. It was simply his turn. Truly though his crime was severe since Telvido's permissive indulgence had resulted in the deaths of twenty of Melkor’s soldiers and servants.  A dark crust of old blood flaked off the manacles as Melkor thrust Telvido’s wrists into the cold circles.

“What slays me is that though many have died, you lived.  You made sure that you yourself had enough to eat. I know that you are of the Maia that must eat,”

“And shit!!” Yelled Gothmog, “If he eats he shits!” Laughter rang out from soldier, servant, slave, and Melkor himself.

“You know, Telvido, I am now a more refined healer. So that means that I can rip you apart, heal you, and do it again anew in cycles of pain,” This was a lie, for he did not know, in fact, if he tore a limb off his Maia if he could regrow it. He had not tried this yet in his experiments to test the new power of the Flame Imperishable. He could regrow his own limbs, but those of others he did not know. Likely he could do so, but he simply has not yet endeavored to explore the potential of limb renewal of others.

“But today,” proclaimed Melkor, “I will flay the skin from you,” Telvido’s conviction was therefore decided, and from under the throne Melkor revealed a wicked whip.

In one fluid motion, the velvet shirt was ripped from the Maia’s back to expose his pale skin. He was too skinny from his love of medicines with hard lines of ribs poking through his sides.  No need there was to move any hair aside since it was already shorn—a shame that would take years to rectify. 

Stilling himself, the Maia placed his palms flat against the wall.  The manacles were welded to a long chain with enough length to provide him options, to place his hands high above his head, or lower. It was his choice. The end result would be the same. In fact, the cuffs were not even locked, and he could remove them voluntarily at any time. He chose to stay with Melkor and receive his punishment, but he also chose to allow his people to starve due to his actions. Thusly, he knew he deserved this since his Master provided for his every need, and still he betrayed his Lord.

Crack! The pain was terrible!  The red whip essentially a customized a cat o’ nine tails that Melkor would lovingly maintain after each flogging, tying knots of whatever he desired into its lashes. 

Crack! Melkor had afixed glass, metal, and bits of things to ensure that the touch was most unique and never the same. A crap shoot for the recipient!

Crack! There was one critical feature of the whip which added to the unique experience. It was a tiny metal ball with little toothed spikes.  It was this that caused the most damage.  For now, three circular bleeding kisses from the lash gleamed on Telvido’s back.

It was excruciating beyond measure, but Melkor had just begun to deploy the technique he had perfected over the millennia. First, start slow, then fast to a climax of lashings. After ten minutes, the Maia’s back was a minefield of craters from that one piece of iron on the whip. _I must add more of those miniature maces to mine red delights!_ Telvido tried not to scream of course. _They all try not to cry out. They all lose! Every. Single. Time._

Now it was that Melkor accelerated his expertly delivered dicipline to a mounting fury driving Telvido to grunt and his body to twitch with each landing. And of when Telvido cried out in agony, Melkor smiled.  It was then that Melkor deployed a bit of his power to drive a fierce wind around the room.  This was done for no reason except to stoke his pleasure for every time he let loose the power of the Flame Imperishable, ecstasy would course through his being.  Melkor sighed as rapture flooded his body and he gasped at the obscene sensation. This time, he pushed the pleasure from the core of his hröa to that of Telvido causing the Maia great conflict at the contrasting sensations.

“I do it for you,” Melkor whispered in his ear breathlessly and stroked the ragged tatters of Telvido’s hair, “I do it for mine kingdoms. I do it to elevate you, to make you better,” so quiet he spoke, “And I know you’ll never betray me _again!!_ ” he let loose a terrible barrage of strokes on the Maia’s back, his sides, shredding the velvet from his arse and thighs. And Telvido shrieked so wretchedly.  _Now we go to begging_ , thought Melkor, and right on cue came the pleas.

“Please stop, Master!” he gasped and screamed at once, “I’m sorry!”

“But _I’m_ not sorry,” Melkor soothed, and another wave of horrific slashes set the Maia’s body into spasms.  When that mini mace somehow angled to hit Telvido’s chest, he spun around in the chains. Now a rain of fury pounded his chest. Pure anguish.

“My Lord, I beg you to stop! Please!”

“Beg me? Go on,” and finally came the pause.

“I implore you to stop whipping me. I am sorry for my actions.”

“What actions?” Melkor needed him to say it.

“I was permissive, and allowed our provisions to be spent in repeated celebrations that you did not authorize. I indulged and permitted indulgence, and caused Angband to starve. But you have saved us with the provisions from a conquered land," he flattered but sincerely, "I will never do such a thing again and will henceforth consider our kingdom above my own desires,”

Melkor tapped the red handle of the whip on his chin in a pensive stance with weight borne on one leg, “Hmmm.”

Awash in his own blood, Telvido was breathless and exhausted. Truly though he did regret his actions. Of course, Melkor probed his mind to assess if the Maia was repentant or only wished an end to the pain. Searching his mind, it was clear Telvido was both—he was both remorseful and did also seek the secession of agony. _Sufficient._

“Hmmph,” the Dark Lord pulled free the hands from the manacles, and released from them now, Telvido collapsed. “I am not pleased, Telvido. We shall see if I shall heal you. Ask me in an hour. Go sit with your colleagues if you can. I care not.” But Melkor did care though he’d never admit it.

“Thank you, Lord,” and Telvido was thankful since though the Vala was cruel, Melkor did elevate and better all of his Maia in some twisted way.

_[End Note: Am I (Melkor) too soft on Telvido?  What think you? Methinks I may have been too gentle and should ramp it up/edit to add more severity! And yes, i know i am out of my mind, but that's what makes it so fun!]_


	10. Prisoner Exchange

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feanor wishes to exchange prisoners. Can I behave? Unlikely. Will violence ensue? Perhaps. This time I suffer brutal pain. Have mercy please!!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [This chapter, like most, is readable as a standalone so one does not need to read the whole bloody thing!]  
> Simple Summary: Overview of previous chapters if you'd like- Melkor has been given a portion of the Flame Imperishable by Eru in exchange for the Silmarils. To receive such a gift of near limitless power, he has sworn an Oath of Trade which holds him to not attack the Noldor or Sindar or face utter destruction. With his new gift, he has not only healed himself, but conquered a rich kingdom of men in the far East. 
> 
> In Melkor’s absence, Angband fell into disarray and starvation, but that was remedied with the return of the Dark Vala.

Hours it took to sate the sharp and near cannibalistic hunger within Angband for starvation had nearly led to the destruction of Melkor’s seat of power. In a gesture of uncommon benevolence, the Dark Vala permitted much feasting to fulfill the appetites of servant and soldier. Even the most depraved slave now leaned back in the contented manner of those with a full belly.

Amid the Great Hall, the Lord allowed the casual conversations of low thralls for he was in a permissive mood, and somehow a bit weary if that were possible. Much was expected of his kingship and though he gloried in spearheading the will of all, it was oh so taxing to discipline, direct, and lead. 

“My Lord,” a usually calm balrog was a shaking bundle of nerves. His mouth worked wordlessly as though he held some knowledge he did not wish to impart.

“ _Yes_ … Sergeant,” it was impossible for the Vala to conceal his fatigue. _Why can I never relax properly_ , mused Melkor.

“The Noldor…,”

“What _about_ the cursed Noldor? Always the Noldor! Damned elves!” The balrog seemed to shrink as old lash wounds of discipline smarted in anticipation of his Master’s rage. Now, no action of violence sprung from the Vala. His Master’s face was amost serene, the words harsh but backed only by hollow rage. A pale Vala hand swirled loosely in a motion that meant, ‘continue’.

“The Noldor,” hushed now the balrog pursued, “They send messages with the star mark of Feanor…”

Now the Vala did react since he banged his head backwards against the throne of the Great Hall of feasting and ale. He did this thrice. Many of those at the nearer tables smarted and flinched as the metal of the Master’s crown rang. In frustrated exhaustion, a great sigh indicated to all that their Lord would not rage at them. For now.

Finally seeing the occasion to fulfill his duty of message delivery, the low bowing balrog presented three stiffly folded parchments to his Lord.  Sealed they were, and Melkor rightly gauged that the communications were unread and unspoiled. _Good balrog_ , thought the Vala, but no verbal praise was spoken. Only a cursory nod bid his thanks, and to this the balrog gratefully slunk away to gratefully return to his brethren.

Unusually tolerant in his fatigue he was on this one evening, permitting even his elf pleasure slave to enjoy comradery with this kind. He had deigned to heal Telvido, the Maia he so viciously disciplined to for enabling the starvation of Angband.  Though, of course, the Vala had dragged Telvido out of the Great Hall to a private alcove to heal him in a concealment. _What use is a broken Maia_ , he reasoned. Such moments of mild compassion were a punctuated mercy to offset his usual cruelty.

It was this maddening unpredictability that stoked ire and love in his subjects.

A long nail served to make quick work to open the wretched elven messages. One each week had arrived during the three weeks of his absence. Dated and orderly the messages were penned in Feanor’s own embellished hand. Blue Vala eyes flicked along the lines of script with an obvious glint of displeasure. At the center of the paper, a great number ‘three’ was written with exaggerated spirals alighted with gold and red fleurons to aggrandize the digit.

Filled with candor and undisguised tones of insult wrote Feanor:

 

 

 

> Vala of Angband,
> 
> Following your surrender of the Silmarils, I have withdrawn my great armies from warfare away from the borders of Angband. To this action of honor, I have witnessed the retreat of your forces in kind.
> 
> Thusly, we both now enter an armistice, an accord I wish to continue to bring prosperity to all. In this new era of peace, it is my desire to underscore this harmony with a pact of exchange.  In your halls, you imprison Noldor captives in subjugation. Likewise and rightly, I house those under your dark influence in my keep.
> 
> I propose an exchange of three prisoners each. Surrender you alive and whole three of the Noldor named Ardryll Grerie, and brothers Elorshin and Raeran Morneiros. In turn, I shall furnish you with Thuringwethil, a balrog, and an Angbandian officer.
> 
> No treachery will I abide, and on neutral ground must this occur. At the abandoned Dorthonian east tower I put forward for such an exchange at noon on mid-hrívë. Other topics of our armistice I wish to discuss, so I request your person to meet mine own. I await your reply. -F    

Signed with a great “F” only, the three documents spoke similar themes of the same message, each with a tone of impatience.  Rereading the final communication to discover any hidden meaning, Melkor found none. Too far was Feanor for the Dark Vala to explore the thoughts of the Noldor. 

Still, Melkor knew the unspoken motivation behind the urgent message.  

The imprisoned elf maid was heavy with pregnancy, and Melkor had wicked plans to raise and shape her offspring to his desires has he done with his pleasure slave. She was a prize most valued and a rarity in Angband. Melkor had bestowed upon her his personal... attentions. This was granted to her soon after her arrival, but just once. _Or was it twice?_ His eyes closed for a moment at the memory of her softest skin, and he preferred not to part with her. Strangely though, the elf maid showed no signs of bearing a child when she first arrived. If and how Feanor knew of her condition was in question. If he did, this meant a spy was hidden in Angband.  _No time to this on this now. Bitch! If i exchange her, I get another. Useless creatures,_ Melkor's mind whirled.

Though he heard that the twin brothers were skilled craftsmen, they held less value in his mind, and he had not even bothered to set eyes on the two siblings.

From beneath the throne, the Dark Vala pulled a paper to compose a reply to Feanor’s offer. No quill did he need as he imparted a simple message written with his finger in a glowing violet scrawl:

               F-

               I accept!

               -Melkor 

With a glint of humor, Melkor only used the first letter of Feanor’s name in the address of his reply. Carefully then, he formed the initial ‘F’ for Feanor. Then, he added to the ‘F’ what could be ambiguously a simple adornment of script, or a small letter ‘u’.

He smirked at his private jest of “Fuck you” as Feanor’s name, and his ultimate sentiment. In contrast, he traced his own name fully in severe, sharp angles.  

“Gothmog!” he called, and a drunken balrog slid a bit too unsteadily to his Master’s side, “Read these,” he thrust forth the letters and his note for Gothmog to read at his leisure, “Have mine message delivered to Feanor. Tonight! We go to meet with him tomorrow! There is not much time now as the hour grows late. Read the elf’s letters then burn them! Have the prisoners he wants bathed and dressed properly.”

*   *   *

On an enormous, black werewolf Melkor rode. Clad in black brocaded garments, high boots, and a gleaming crown of platinum, Melkor’s blue eyes glimmered in bright contrast to the ebony of his garb. No maille did he wear and as they rode on, and that bold decision worried at his mind. He could now heal himself but had only touched upon his recuperative powers. Dangerous.

A company of ten they were: The Dark Vala, Gothmog, Telvido, a dark elf devoted in service to Melkor, two enormous uruks, the elf thrall Carir, and the three prisoners. All rode werewolves save the three elves drawn behind in a wheeled cage—the cage almost served as a mercy to the elf maid in her last weeks of pregnancy. _She would only slow us,_ thought Melkor. 

They rode quickly though the road was in disrepair and peppered with wicked rocks. Strangling overgrowth incinerated as pulses of an irritated Vala’s power transformed the green creations of Yavanna to enrich the earth—the work of Melkor in a pure, small way. In such a manner, the repeated purple-tinged power heralded the arrival of Angband’s Lord and his company.

*   *   *

“He draws close,” a breathless scout bowed to Curufinwë.

“So he does,” Feanor stood proud with fury as the elf Lord’s dark brows drew deeply together.

“You suspect treachery, Adar?” Nelyofinwë’s hands nervously brushed away stray red hairs that cascaded over his etched vambrace. _Of course, there would be deceit,_ he thought.

“Always there is deception with Morgoth, Nelyo,” his mouth was soft with sorrow, “Either overt treachery, or he deceives himself in his madness. A dangerous combination. Does he bring with him balrogs?”

“The fiery Captain accompanies him yes, but in a different form. Seven of those loyal to Angband come, and they do bring the lady and the brothers. Caged,” loathe was the scout to report such news.

A thin finger tapped Feanor to his own cheek, “Always craven is Morgoth. But he is forbidden to attack us in open warfare, Nelyo. He cannot do so, or meet his destruction. This is to our advantage.”

“He arrives!” Another elf called as all unsheathed their swords and drew armed bows. Safety, not decorum, was prudent in interactions with the Dark One, so deceitful and full of wrath was he.

Led by the hulking uruks, huffing werewolves bore their riders on high. It was sickening for Nelyofinwë to behold the dark evil of Melkor and his followers oozing with zealous fidelity. As he looked upon the Dark Vala for the first time, the sight was frightening, enticingly wrong, and so utterly evil. As their eyes met for a moment, such terror gripped Nelyofinwë’s fëa. It was the son of Feanor who broke their brief gaze, for Nelyofinwë saw in horror elves among the Angbandian company.

Such disillusionment pulled terribly at Feanor’s son to light upon a blonde elf near the Dark One. This black leather-clad elf grinned wickedly at him with a terrible malevolence. _How could elves shadow such a being of darkness and chaos?_

“Vala of Angband,” Feanor spoke, consciously choosing not to instigate the Dark One with the name of Morgoth, “I come to you honorably and in peace. Among you I see my imprisoned brethren. And behind us here are your Maia and your officer,” a broad gesture directed Melkor’s gaze to the elf’s captives. In in a clear state of abuse, Thuringwethil and the two other Angbandian prisoners leaned tied tightly to a tree behind the elven company. 

As blue Vala eyes flicked to her battered form, bloodied lip, black eyes, and partially stripped body, red anger swelled in hot waves within him. He spoke not. At least not yet.

So uncomfortable was the silence between all twenty gathered as the two Lords drilled fury into the other. Seething winter wind moved around the heavy cloaks and dark hair of Feanor and the copper strands of his eldest son. Too long a pressure wore on in that frigid wind.

“I present to you your Maia,” and gestured the elf Lord for Thuringwethil’s unbinding, but only from the tree, not her hands, “You will release the she-elf now, Vala, and I may give you this Maia.” It was a command, “Then you will next give me the brothers.”

Melkor bristled at the manner of discourse. Feanor’s tone held no respect, no reverence. Instead, Feanor issued orders. The elf spoke of how to perform the exchange and in what order. This displeased the Vala greatly.

 _Release one of the brothers, not the she-elf_ , spoke the Vala to Gothmog silently through their connection. With a nod, roughly the balrog obeyed. Opening the cage, a fierce grasp fixed on a male elf prisoner with near bruising force. With subdued ferocity, the elf pushed weak resistance against Gothmog as the balrog dragged him by his chained and collared neck to Melkor. Gently now, the metal lead was pressed into the Vala’s palm.

 _Of course_ , Feanor thought, _Chains. Collars. Games. Cruelty, yes, but still no overt treachery. Yet._

Sadism played on the lips of the Dark Vala. A challenge perhaps? Playful eyes and a slightly cocked brow fixed upon Feanor’s reaction.

So difficult it was for Feanor not to rise in anger. Truly, Morgoth had paid him an insult, though a slight one at best. Feanor asked for the return of the she-elf, and the Vala supplied one of the brothers instead. _Of course he did!_ However, the happiness of the Noldor was more critical than games. Too important was their prosperity to cave in to pride over petty insults. Feanor’s memory flitted to anger at the memory of the Corrupted Vala's whispers in years past, turning brother against brother. 

“Release the officer,” spoke the banished elf king and his captain obliged to draw the battered officer, not Thuringwethil, closer to Feanor. The small battle of wills then continued between the elf king and the Vala.  

With a prisoner exchange imminent, tension rose. Such a hand off would require a closeness of proximity, and Melkor wanted it! Truly though, the Vala did not need to pass the prisoners to his enemy himself. In his perversity, Melkor wished to taunt the elf lord at a close personal distance. Such near and intimate interactions would stir Melkor’s hatred, stoke his desires, and therefore offer thrilling entertainment. The prisoners were but pawns to augment his longing for corrupted stimulation.

Descending the werewolf, Melkor observed the first male elf prisoner for the first time in curious lust. "Such a shame I never enjoyed you or your twin. Or both at once! No matter," Confidently now, Melkor strode a bit too quickly to Feanor with the young elf in tow, and the Noldor rushed to their Lord’s defense, leveling arrow and sword at the Dark Vala. 

“My Lord, help me,” trembling hands of the elf brother reached out in shameless desperation to his king, fiercely seeking to be free of Melkor’s cloying hands.

“Hush now, dearest,” so cruelly Melkor wrenched the Nolo to his body in a mock embrace. So tight he held him with crushing force to wrap his arms about the small elf’s waist. A weak hand pushed against the solid form of the Dark One in a futile gesture, an action that only prompted an evil smile of delight. Still, Melkor thought himself and his own actions to be innocent, yet mischievous, only. Always he had a lack of understanding in this respect.

“Enough now, Vala! What is this pointless game of yours? Release the prisoner and I will free your officer in kind,” Feanor was livid, "It's a simple, honorable exchange, if you know honor."

Melkor slowly licked the elf’s cheek to elicit a violent recoil and red blush of startled loathing. The Vala laughed in a near giggle of joy since he savored such reactions so deliciously. _Why not? They are mine._

Disgust filled the fine features of the mighty elf Lord as he shoved the officer to his Master to end this nonsense. With a near expression of regret, Melkor relinquished his captive with repugnance. The elf king had cut short his game.

A snap of Feanor’s fingers indicated to bring the next captive forth, the balrog.

“Too bad, elf,” Melkor smiled at the now free elf brother, “We could have had such… enjoyment, you and I.”

When Gothmog then passed the second twin into Melkor’s arms, the Dark Lord continued his game seamlessly with this next brother, “Perhaps I should better explore my possessions to see what I have in my inventory of thralls? I knew I had twin elf brothers, but I had not yet set eyes on _you_ ,” in his usual manner, the Vala spoke as though he were alone with his playthings. Though keenly aware of the audience and one of his greatest foes so near, their presence stoked his lasciviousness to staggering skies of vulgarity. He moaned aloud to give a shameless voice to his corrupt appetite.

“This performance is not seeming of a Vala,”

“But it is!” and so lewd now he traced a hand down the abdomen of the twin. _Innocent fun,_ he thought.

“No! No!” this second brother thrashed in a senseless struggle against Melkor’s might as the Dark One only moved his hand closer to its obvious target between the elf’s legs.

“Enough! Here’s your foul balrog!” Feanor nearly threw his next prisoner to the Dark Lord with strength driven by aversion and rage. Melkor was winning at whatever depraved amusement he was playing, for his actions compelled the elf king to fury. The Vala adored it.

A shift.

Now then, Melkor’s demeanor transformed from teasing to a more somber tone for they both knew that the real prize was the she-elf with child. A sense of pending violence launched all the witnesses into trembling anticipation. Narrowing Vala eyes glistened as they plotted.

Thuringwethil shook from her abuse as she was held firm by two sternly cold elf warriors. Truly she was a miserable thing to behold with evidence of her torture scattered across her body. Melkor did not bother with an overt glance to her though tendrils of his thought shot out to probe the damage. _I will mend you, love. Be patient. Always I come to you do I not? Trust me, sweetling._ He imparted these thoughts unknown to all but the vampire Maia. To others, the return to dreadful silence was agonizing.

Such taunt pressure slid among the trees, and though the sun was near its highest pinnacle, shade seemed to ooze from Melkor.  It was his purpose to be so dark, and he fulfilled his maker’s objective in this regard—to corrupt, to offset light, and to transform. As a result on his unlight and chaos, creation would not expand unchecked to consume itself, and new constructions could be free to thrive. Discord equalizes and unhinges the foundations of growth—a true unity and balance.

But Melkor now had limits.

Receive the Flame Imperishable he did in return for the Silmarils, but Eru protected the Noldor and Sindar from his raw destruction. Melkor could not attack them in _‘open’_ warfare or he would die. Not go to the Void or the Halls of Mandos. He would cease to exist. What did that mean _, 'open_ ' warfare? Melkor thought he knew!

“Strangely now elf, I no longer desire to exchange the elf maid for Maia Thuringwethil,” an uneven smirk floated across Melkor's face.

A deep sigh puffed from the mouth of Feanor. _Why, Morgoth? Why do you act thusly?_ He thought, knowing that he would now likely hear the Vala’s warped words and skewed logic. _Always twisted you are. Why did I expect otherwise? Who is twisted now? He or I for thinking that Morgoth would act in honor? At least I have secured the brothers._ Deeply he chastised himself, “Vala, there is no sense in your actions, no benefit, no reason...”

“My reasons you ask?” Melkor reached to caress or somehow touch Feanor’s face, but the elf would have nothing of this dark affection. A swiping move drove the Vala’s arm away.

Bringing a hand to his chest in a gesture of mock hurt at the rebuttal, “My reasons you wish to know? Why should I exchange the she-elf, when I could take _you!_ Or _him!_ ” and the same hand pointed now to Nelyofinwë in desire.

“There is no logic in your words! Your talk is mad," Feanor was right since his enemy was, indeed, rarely of sane mind, "Did you not place your name to this document?” Feanor then produced the cryptic note that the Vala wrote, the document that read simply, _'I accept.'_  

Melkor flicked his eyes to the note written in his own hand, “To what did I agree? Where are the terms I signed, hmm? Do produce them!" He loved to play, to tease, to madden, to infuriate, "I agreed to meet you, and I did. You sought to command me, elf, in your arrogance!” in a moment, he flipped now to a darker rage, the lust and playfulness draining away like rain.

“Oh, Eru, why?” Feanor was the picture of exasperation, “Enough!” and now a glint of his sword's metal shone brightly in the noonday sun, "Enough of your foolishness and childlike games,"

With such tension at the meeting of ancient enemies, a release of sorts exploded as the swords of both companies were unleashed.

“You are the fool! You witnessed what Eru granted me, the power he hast given me. Did you not wish to speak to me of our ‘peace’? To speak to me in honor on other topics?” Quickly then, the sword forged by Mairon’s own hand met defensively that of an elf warrior who leapt to protect his Master.

Elf hands snatched arrows from quivers and released in a rapid motion at the Angbandians. Now then, a thick arrow elicited an elvish scream, but the cry came not from the Noldor for it pierced through the body of the dark elf sargeant. In a futile action, his palms encircled the reddening wooden arrow shaft, but with barbs turned backgrounds, extraction would be nigh impossible in the field. Death was assured.

Now in his fiery form, both Gothmog and his freed comrade set forth a detonation to transform into their fiery forms. At this sight, Feanor’s fëa seemed to lurch at the view of balrogs in full glory as though he were aware of an end that he might meet in an alternate offshoot of fate.

Having dispatched an uruk, the elf Lord made for the treacherous Dark Enemy now locked in combat with two Noldor warriors. Deftly he strode toward Melkor as his archers circled closer to the Maia Telvido who guarded against the rescue of the she-elf.  With only one uruk in play and the balrogs occupied, Feanor leapt at his foe with quick expediency. 

With a solid clout of an elven blade, the elf king’s thrust nearly met with its intention to cleave Melkor’s shoulder, but a rapid and fierce diagonal parry slid the blow to the left. A winding fury of the Vala’s blows made for the elf, but the skill of Feanor was such to compel each stroke away.

Both now bearing their teeth like enraged beasts, a clearing appeared around the two Lords in combat. All subconsciously knew to allow them a window for heated swordplay. Flying around the other, Feanor swooped an expert thrust toward Melkor’s core. Though the move was pushed up and dangerously close to the elf’s face, the king did not relent.

Downward now, Melkor drove his sword in a terrible motion with a desire to split Feanor neatly in two vertically. A jump back cleared this, but rendered the elf unsteady for but a moment. With a feral look, the Vala then thrust his weapon directly forward in a clean horizontal push. Feanor swerved quickly, but the blade met its intent. It pierced cruelly into the bulk of the elf’s bicep with a short elven shriek of pain.

A step backwards Feanor took then and raised a stilling hand that asked for a brief and honorable hold to their battle while he could temporarily recoup.

No mercy did Melkor show nor honorable move to stay the battle. Naked lust for violence instead gushed from Melkor. Rage over previous insults, fury at the Valar, confusion over why others despised him, and a personal and directed hatred of the Noldor flooded from him. All this turmoil he channeled through a sword poised to deliver brutal, mad savagery. His intent was plain--to kill, to destroy, to annihilate, and to do it now!

Then, the Vala’s expression changed. 

Pain. Not just any pain, but white agony hammered through Melkor's being and he froze his great attack as though stunned. His eyes widened in surprise as he drew in a great trembling inhale as torment vibrated throughout his body. With futile effort and pride, he fought the rising pain as his form visibly shivered, but the agony was simply too much. Amid the pain, he was able to quickly scan his being for physical damage. There was none. It was the Oath of Trade. Another jolt of wicked and electric agony shocked Melkor's body in a paroxysm as though struck to and fro by an unseen flogging.

It was then that Melkor crumpled to his knees in breathless panting. Such was the power of Eru.

“Eru, I am defending myself!" Gasp, "This is not active warfare! Ugh!” The Vala screamed his frustration and agony to the heavens.

Feanor knew what was unfolding before him, and lowered his sword to point to the grassy ground. He had won by proxy and had only to wait and witness the Dark Vala’s anguished and righteous finale, “You broke the Oath of Trade, Morgoth! You swore not to attack us in pointless violence, but you did. I knew you would dishonor your word. As I predicted, you betrayed your vow. Now, you die! I will behold witness to your agonized death. It is right and just."

“No!” Melkor could no longer hold his sword as he knelt. It slid from his grip and both hands now pressed flat on the ground to steady himself, “Fuck...," he swore and shuddered, "I did not break the Oath! Eru, I did _not!_ ” He truly could not grasp any error, but the pain fogged his thinking as it drove agony through his center. Yet again he cried out as the righteous pain thundered through him to arch his form in contortions of suffering and labored breaths. 

“Of course you did, Moringotto! You foolishly raised your hand against the Noldor in active warfare. You were incapable of simply exchanging prisoners in honor. You attacked me in pointless rage,” Feanor's free hand wrapped around his own bloody bicep.

Now clutching his arms fiercely around himself, Melkor's pain was unreal. The Vala spasmed as the agony shook him in hot waves of utter anguish and he cried out his torment wretchedly. Melkor's agony threatened unconsciousness and that would _not_ do, “No... not… active… warfare…,” the words were delayed, labored, growing fainter, and more breathless.

"I relish the pain that Eru has in store for you. You endure a just fate, Morgoth," Feanor was right. Melkor's suffering was just. It was as though all the pain that he dealt to the Noldor was mirrored back to the Vala in kind. Echos of the torture he inflicted on the virtuous, and the agony of his punishments of the innocent and guilty alike drove fantastic flashes of torment through Melkor's body. The arms that held up his upper body as he knelt began to buckle at the elbows. He would collapse to an utterly prone position. Soon.

 _This will end badly!_ If he did not make a retreat, Melkor knew that he would fall into the darkness of unconsciousness, then the Noldor would take him and do Eru knows what. He had to depart. _If I die, I die. But it will not be here!_ Amid the pain, he attempted to usher his power to transport himself to Angband. With the boundaries of oblivion closing, a deep swooning blackness was edging in. The focused effort to fold space was nearly impossible. Nearly.

Quickly then, he felt the transport of his fëa and hröa through the distance with immense relief. Over winter laden ground he slid, through the hills and forests of Dorthonian, over the frozen grassland, through the gates of Angband, through the halls, and to his empty throne room. Here, he manifested physically and dropped into the cold yet familiar embrace of his seat of power. 

Though finally the pain departed with a sudden rush, he felt weak.  In a near panic, he probed his power to gauge if the Flame Imperishable dwelt within him still.

It did. The pulse of the Flame Imperishable still swelled through his being. _This pain mist be a warning from Eru. A firm one. Why?!_

“Damn you, Feanor!! Damn you, Eru! Can I not defend myself!? I did not attack. It was only defense! Only defense! I have done nothing against the Oath. Eru, you spite me! Betrayal! You lie! You lie…,” he trailed off. All rage and sorrow he was at the perceived wrong, and he curled into himself in the empty hall.

Melkor could not comprehend that he had committed any transgression or breach of contract. Such feelings of betrayal and persecution consumed him. The vulgar swears he unleashed forth echoed throughout Angband, and prompted even the most hardened residents of the stronghold to start.

Then he began scanning from a distance to assess how his balrogs, his elf, and other Maia fared in battle. They were simply too far to feel their thoughts. It was too dim. He knew he had abandoned them, and he screamed in utter despair and frustration.

Then he plotted. _I have to go back to battle._

 

Notes:

[For clarity, I do not believe that simply stabbing Feanor elicited Eru's 'warning'. In retrospect, I believe now that the warning was issued since I was about to kill the wretched elf in anger. Damn you, Eru! Feanor deserves it!]

Hrívë [Quenya, meaning winter]

 

 


	11. The Mark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I return to the field of battle. I bring an elf back to Angband for some playful carnal fun and torture.
> 
> To skip to the torture and pain, look for the three asterisks * * *. Pain follows shortly after.

Inaction did not suit Melkor as he mused on his throne in isolation. Indeed, the Vala was driven from a battle with Feanor by pure agony for dishonoring the Oath of Trade. Rightly he had exchanged the Silmarils for power immeasurable, but such a trade came with the price—Eru had forbidden him to attack the Noldor or Sindar with malicious intent or face utter destruction.

 _That damned Noldo forced my hand. Cursed Feanor,_ thought the Vala, _He provoked me.  He sought to stoke my anger so I would attack him in kind, break the Oath of Trade, and perish,_ he growled, _He hast made a fool of me!!_

At this he now raged in futile fury, but still he was troubled.  Compelled to leave the battle and an honorable prisoner exchange, he had abandoned three of his most loyal servants, Gothmog, Thuringwethil, and his loyal elf.

Most troubling this was to Melkor at their unknown fates. When an image of a proud and gloating Feanor entered his mind’s eye, his will fixed on the next course of action. _I have to return to the battle._ A shimmer of shame floated across his being for just a moment before he forced the emotion deep into the nethermost halls of his mind.

Usher forth his power he did to rapidly transport himself back to the abandoned Dorthonian east tower—the location of his meeting with Feanor and company.  Still, he deposited his hröa a slight distance from the battle to enhance the advantage of surprise.

Rage the battle did with the sonorous clang of swords, cries of pain, threats, and whistle of arrows.  Many arrows!  One stray shaft whizzed by Melkor as he approached the epicenter of violence. Startled he was at a sorrowful sight—a deceased balrog!  Only now a heaping mass of volcanic rock, the creature still sizzled but cooled in death. Not Gothmog but still the balrog was a great warrior and a bitter loss for Angband. _Damn you, Feanor!_ It could only have been Feanor who felled his beautiful being of darkness and fire. Rage pushed his footfalls to a more rapid pace.

The Angbandians were failing in their battle. Only Gothmog and a now freed Thuringwethil stood in combat with the others of their company dead or dying. All of his three former prisoners were now liberated and claimed, the cart that brought them forward toppled and broken. So much blood saturated the clearing in broad circles with all ten of the werewolves that carried them slain with limbs and heads rendered loose.

Foolishly, Carir the pleasure elf, had allowed himself to be captured. Thusly, he was now bound and held with the fierce strength of gray clad Noldor warriors. Gnashing his teeth in fury, Melkor strode with vehement confidence toward the center of the fray.

It was then that an exultant Feanor fixed on Melkor, the elf posed just as the Corrupted One had seen him in his thoughts, proud, tall, and covered in the blood of Angband, “You return, coward? How quickly you fled before in craven defeat. I must say I am surprised and disappointed that you have not perished. All the Noldor would rejoice at your agonized death, Morgoth!” he spat the name he bestowed upon the Vala.

“Fuck you!” There was no need for Melkor to mince words. The curse matched his thoughts perfectly.

“So crass. Come over here and fuck me then,” the hatred was penetrating, and some of Feanor’s men startled at seeing their exiled king speak in such as manner.

“I’d love to,” and he arrived at Gothmog’s side as all fighting ceased in a precarious peace. Act now Melkor did as a black clad arm shot out to emit a beam of unlight to one of the elves—the one he had held prisoner, one of two elf twin brothers.  In horror and surprise, the stricken elf brother thrashed wildly and with futility as the ray of Melkor’s power pulled him to the Vala’s grasp. As he quickly drew closer to the focus of his hatred and enemy of his people, the elf lashed violently against nothing in agonized fear. Many elves rushed to free their brethren from the foul grasp of the Moringotto’s unlight, but their efforts only pained the captive further.

“Hmm,” a sigh of obvious pleasure oozed from the closed and smirking mouth of the Vala. Lecherous thoughts pushed through his intent of clear desire for the elf brother.

Solid and cold was Feanor’s gaze bearing witness to Melkor’s despicable and lowly game, “Why, Vala?”

“Why? It is just. I do not forget your insults, elf,” he spoke his last word with contempt, “And this is not active warfare is it not? No Oath do I break.”

“You must see we also hold bound  _your_ elf, the one that you have dressed like a whore,”

Laughter then met Feanor, “Always you think ill of me,” So tight was the grip of the Dark One when the elf brother was finally pulled into his embrace. “Mine elf can clothe himself however he wishes. Perhaps he seeks to please me. What do you say, Carir,” he called to his pleasure slave, “Do you wish to come with me? Or follow your kin?”

“Always you, Lord!” Carir struggled violently against the subjugating clench that held him.

“Then perhaps you will mourn the death of your pleasure slave!” Feanor gestured to those Noldor who restrained the Angbandian elf. He wished to have the elf killed to taunt Melkor to anguish.

“No! No!” Carir’s fear was valid, “Master! Please help!”

A Noldor blade readied to fulfill the purpose of its creation, to slay those loyal to Angband. Most devoted to Angband Carir was, and he would stand in fierce defiance to those that threatened it. The elves that held Carir posed to slit his throat.

“Now, now, Feanor. What happened?  We were behaving so honorably. We can’t have this, can we?” and Melkor made a sweeping movement of his hand. At this, the elves that restrained his pleasure slave soared across the clearing to impact a tree with a sickening crunch.

Laugher again. Melkor was joyous, but keenly aware not to violate the Oath.  He rightly gauged that the Oath he swore was tied to intention. Here, his intent was to free his beloved, not to destroy. It was a dangerous game he played, a game in which one incorrect move would lead to his pain or ultimate destruction should be break his promise to Eru. How he teetered on the precipice of death with his foul deeds in freeing his elf in this manner. It was not active warefare but violence still. Such a fine line.

Quickly then Carir made a desperate dash to his Master. Though his Lord held a terrified elf captive in one arm, Carir crashed into the Vala and commanded the embrace of his other arm.  Two trembling elves Melkor now held and he loved it! Thusly satisfied he endeavored to focus his power to lurch his servants back to Angband. To depart was his aim.

“You are most depraved,” and now Feanor played his hand as reveal he did one of the Silmarils, its light drawing the jealous ire of Melkor.  The Dark One’s expression melted into a deep frown of hatred.  Though forced by Eru to relinquish the gems, still he desired the Silmarils. He desired them greatly.  All joy slid from Melkor at the vision of their light.  Oh, how he lusted for that Silmaril. Truly he was more powerful then Feanor, and could seize the jewel easily.

Melkor's thoughts were wicked, _A simple flash of raw power and I could destroy that elf, tear his limbs from his wretched body. I could tear the skin from his face like a sheet, or set him alight and watch him flail and burn. But I cannot do this, can I? This would be a violation of the Oath. Feanor taunts me! Damn you, Eru!_

“Your veil of intent is a thin one, Feanor. You seek to stoke me into action and force me to break the Oath. I will kill you, elf, when the opportunity presents itself. If you seek death so eagerly, then I will give it to you. But you must wait for my gift of sweet destruction. I have a new toy here and I wish to play with it,” and he kissed the cheek of the elf brother eliciting a shiver of disgust, “Hmm, how much fun we’re going to have, elf.”

"Come now Gothmog, Thuringwethil,” Melkor gestured that they draw near so he could fold space around them in a dark embrace. A sphere of violent light enveloped the Angbandians and their elf captive as Melkor gave a mocking gesture of sweet parting to Feanor. To this, Melkor saw the king mouth foul curses in farewell.

*    *    *

Angband.

Instantly Melkor pulled the elf twin to the pillory and the cold metal embrace of shackles, “Oh, what I’m going to do to you,” he whispered into the pointed ear, “You will love me. Do you love me, Carir?” he spoke to his devoted one.

“Yes, Master, I love you with all my being,” Carir slid to his Master’s side.

“Right well, goodbye, Lord Melkor,” Gothmog made toward the great doors, “I offer my undying gratitude, Master, for returning to the battle," he bowed.

“I do desire to take care of mine Maia. Leave if you must then, Captain. For it is clear that you do not wish to see what comes next,” and Gothmog traced a hasty exit to clean himself of the blood of elves and werewolves that clung to form.

“Master, my endless love and thanks to you for securing my freedom,” Carir was grateful for his release from the Noldor. They would likely have tortured him in an effort to turn him to their service, all in the name of violent 'good'. 

Thuringwethil remained, “Lord, there is not thanks and praise enough that can express my appreciation for liberating me from the foul Noldor.”

“Yes Thuringwethil, I seek only that mine servants are safe under mine just rule. I do of course expect you to regale me with horrid tales of your imprisonment and pain.  It is clear that the Noldor have abused you. I wish to know every detail so I can heal your trauma. But first, let us explore what we have here,” and a pale hand cupped the chin of his captive. Let his loving torture begin!

“There is no need for this tunic is there now,” a sharp rip tore the fabric from the elf’s body, “It is not a style to my liking.  Why did you choose to wear it for me?” Was his anger for this elf? Or Feanor? Of course Feanor, and the elf would suffer for it.

Uncontrollable shaking met his question.The elf was terror stricken of Melkor's mad intent.

“My inquiries do require an answer. There are no rhetorical queries with me. Why did you choose to wear that shirt for me?”

“I... I... I have been wearing that shirt for months now in your dungeon. I donned it before your orcs captured me in the Dorthonian forest,”

“And why didn’t you tell me before that you were here, hmm? You were previously under mine captivity but did not introduce yourself. Why?”

More shivering.

“Why elf? Why didn’t you tell me you were here.? Do not make me ask questions twice.  It displeases me.  And you don’t want to displease me, do you?” Melkor’s questions were without sense. He knew this and did not care. His arousal was growing already as he gazed at the bound form.

“I had no occasion to tell you that I was in Angband from my cell. And no, I do not want to see you displeased,”

“Good.  Very good,” and Melkor traced his claws along the elf’s chest and back. Carir stood close to his Master, and Melkor pulled him into an embrace. Before the eyes of his captive, the Dark Vala kissed Carir boldly and passionately. The memory of Carir held bound and threatened with death by the elves drove a brief stake of horror into Melkor’s blackest heart. _No one may bind my elf but me_ , and the thought compelled his tongue to vie with Carir’s in dark appetite. 

Obvious it was that the sight of Melkor and Carir in a passionate kiss disgusted the elf. So much was the repulsion that he issued forth a groan of utter loathing.

“What’s this now, elf? You don’t like me?” Not rhetorical.

“I don’t like… that. What you just did to that elf.”

“But do you like _me?_ ” Blue Vala eyes were bright and dilated with malicious resolve.

“No, you are our enemy. _The_ enemy. Morgoth. The bringer of destruction. The Moringotto, the dark foe of my people.”

“Am I now?” And Melkor embraced the chained one and pressed his hips firmly against the elf’s thigh. The Vala purposely angled his body to ensure that the Noldor clearly felt his stiff erection.

“Ugh!” Another groan of repulsion.

“Carir does not seem to think I am the foe of his people,”

“You have corrupted him as you corrupt all things,” the elf struggled in a vain effort to loosen Melkor’s iron hold.

“You may wish to tone down your rhetoric.  I am not known for my patience”

“What do you want?”

“What do I want?” the Vala purred, “I want what everyone wants. To live, to thrive, to love, and to be loved.”

“Love?” This was a word that the Noldor did not expect to hear from the Moringotto.

“Love, yes. I do love those I care for deeply," he then asked a practical question, "What is your name? You will call me Lord Melkor,” the clear undertone of his words conveyed that the Vala did not wish to be called Morgoth or Moringotto lest his rage explode to violence.

“I am Tarduin,”

“Tarduin,” he traced his hand on the elf’s face before leaning close to brush his lips along the captive’s cheekbone, “Do you know what I’m going to do to you?”

“Kill me,””

“Kill you? No. Guess again,”

“Torture me, or turn me into an orc,”

“Perhaps,” and now Melkor pressed his lips against Tarduin’s, but the Noldor would not, of course, open his mouth in welcome.

“Ugh! Please stop.”

“No,” Melkor smiled, and he flicked one his prisoner’s pinkish nipples, “No, you do not command me here in my stronghold. That’s rude, and you don’t want to be rude, do you?” His hand moved lower.

“What? No!”

Like black ink Melkor moved with dark grace to open a drawer on the side of his throne. Such horrors he kept readily at hand for the many unique situations that would arise in Angband.  Paper, ink, knives, a small saw, phalluses make with love by Mairon, cuffs, whips, the aphrodisiac he was given in his new kingdom, alcohol, clothing, jewelry, candles, oil, acid, various potions and tinctures, gold, and so much more. All neatly arranged in a disorganized heap just the way he liked it.

He drew out two crude metal clamps, one in each hand, and presented them plainly for the elf to see, “Now we are going to have some fun!” and Melkor traced the first clamp down the elf’s neck before affixing it to his nipple.

Swears in Quenya echoed darkly, “What is _wrong_ with you?”

“To explain what is wrong with me would take some time. Your pain and restraint thrill me. And to see you so restrained pulls at mine carnal fire and desires of my fëa. It creates a closeness,” the elf was shocked at such candor, “Also, performing these actions upon you frees the mind from mine own troubles. I do have concerns you know. It is much responsibility to rule over mine subjects. For example, right now I am thinking about nothing except you. Nothing else. You should feel honored to be the object of mine attentions and passion. I’m sure Carir or Thuringwethil would very much love to be in your place.”

“Yes please,” Carir chirped.

“Oh, do shut up!” Out of habit, Melkor’s hand closed into a fist of loving discipline, but Carir was out of reach. _Not worth the effort._

The second clamp elicited a hiss of pain and more swears, “This is not right!”

“No, it’s not,” and Melkor embraced him again, "But oh how you fuel my desires," Then the Vala started when he felt small hands on his hips from behind. “Bold aren’t we, Carir,” the elf slave was bursting with desire.

“Master, please! Please, my Lord!”

“Please what, Carir?” Melkor was clearly annoyed.

“Please let me come,”

“I will, my love,” the Vala sighed, “Be patient. But let us see what this one has to offer,” and Melkor grabbed Tarduin’s cock and balls through his pants.

“No!” he struggled in the cuffs, “You are sick!” Tarduin was a picture of disgust.

“Perhaps. But we are all sick in our own way,” and he expertly stoked his captive’s carnal lust. He shot power from his fingertips to flow through the elf throbs of immense pleasure. He did this in a way that the elf would not perceive the sensation as Melkor’s power, but instead as coming from his own mind and desires. Melkor did this to condition him, to associate his new Master with pleasure.

Ashamed of his own body the elf was for his cock engorged in response to Melkor’s expert strokes through his pants, “No, no, Morgoth! Please,”

Rage! A hard backhand flew out to land on the elf’s nose with unnatural strength. A crunching of nasal bones and flesh was horrific. Such pain!! Immediately then the Vala’s playful and generous mood switched off and he transformed into the picture of wrath and chaos—his nature. “I told you my name is Lord Melkor and you spite me by speaking that accused name!”

Blood slid down from both nostrils of the broken nose at that blow, and fear returned.

“You want to see Morgoth? Then you’ll see him! I despite elves that do not listen!” A glint of silver was all that the elf saw. He saw the fine features of the Dark Lord metamorphize to white anger, bared teeth, and animalistic eyes. He saw a pale hand draw the small blade back, a blur of motion, and screamed as searing agony exploded in his shoulder.

Poking at a hard angle from his shoulder was a Angbandian blade, one forged by Mairon with love. And such love was transferred to the prisoner. Now Melkor tapped on the blade with his hand like a sculptor would chisel to marble.  He drove the blade deeper with each punctuated word as he spoke, “Now. You. Hast. Seen. Morgoth.” He laughed. “Do. Not. Call. Me. That. Un. Der. Stood?”

“Ah! Yes!! Yes, Lord Melkor,”

“Good. That was not so difficult. And now you are going to kiss me," Melkor knew he was mad and did not care, "You’re not going to bite me, just kiss me” and he leaned in to kiss the elf deeply. With a rolling motion, he explored the mouth, the tongue. To the elf, Melkor tasted of a volcano if that were possible. But no pleasure was there for the elf for Melkor kept one hand on the knife in a clear message of ‘Do not bite me, or I’ll twist this knife’. With his other hand, the Dark One caressed the elf’s body.  The pain in his shoulder was excruciating.

With a quick motion and while still exploring Tarduin’s mouth, Melkor ripped the knife free with a twisting motion.  The elf screamed into Melkor’s mouth, and this was the Vala’s intent all along, to have a cry of pain release in his mouth during a kiss.

Still, the Vala did not stop his kissing, but he did trace a finger over the wound to heal it with a pulse of power. The same he did to Tarduin’s broken nose, repairing the damage he had done so tenderly.

Finally, Melkor pulled away to gauge his victim’s reaction, “You’re insane, Vala!” Tarduin was incredulous.

“Really? I thought I was merciful. Still, do know that I loathe you,” The knife. Still the Vala held the knife, and he rapped the hilt on his chin in dark contemplation.  Long moments trailed by with no sound save the crackle of many torches. “Thuringwethil, Carir, hold him still,”

“What are you going to do?” Tarduin’s fear was palpable.

No answer came save for a crooked smile and eyes glinting with some wicked plan that whirred in Melkor’s mind.

It was then then that the Dark One trained the blade on Tarduin’s chest toward the left pectoral muscle, “Since you’re in Angband, I wish to bestow you with a gift.  Everyone has one.  It’s the fashion, you know.”

“Everyone has what?” Heaving breaths and acid laden sweat of pure terror glided over the elven chest.

Steady then and with great care the carving began. Angled and expert cuts Melkor sculpted his mark deep into the elf’s pectoral muscle.  The Vala’s brow furrowed in concentration, as he deftly scored a familiar pattern into flesh.  His pattern. A crown with three spires, and the three tall mountains of Thangorodrim. Until recently, the mark of Melkor contained three Silmarils in the crown, but no longer, “You have the honor…,” he spoke haltingly so absorbed Melkor was in this task, “Of being the first… to bear… my new mark. There!” he stood back to admire his artistry as Carir and the Maia released Tarduin. Melkor looked pleased.

Spent was the elf. Too much. He nearly collapsed.

“Well?” Melkor was expectant for an answer. Tarduin knew not what the Vala wished to hear.  Carir helped in this regard. Carir guided the captive to the expected answer, for from behind Melkor, Carir mouthed the words that his Lord desired to hear spoken. This was a mercy on Carir’s part so spare this elf from another flight of his Master’s rage.  It was easier to just comply then contend with the Vala’s anger. Tarduin saw the words unspoken on Carir’s lips and understood what he should say to the Vala.

“Thank you, Lord Melkor,” the elf was so cold and utterly expended.

“Oh, you’re so very welcome!” Melkor smiled with genuine glee, and he reached forward to kiss his captive on his cheek. Spinning was the mind of the elf prisoner with horror, disbelief, pain, wild fear, and a strange sort of relief, “Thuringwethil will take you to a room,” the Vala continued, “No more dungeon for you _unless_ you displease me. Your room will be locked. Perhaps in time that will change, or perhaps not. Welcome back to Angband!”

"Carir," Melkor spoke to his elf slave, "Come with me.  I'm in need of a good cock sucking after today," and he turned and left with heavy, happy footfalls.

______

But wait! There's more!

Below is a little remnant that was not inclded in this chapter. In the below, I opt to cut off the elf's finger. Yes, I know I'm evil. 

<https://archiveofourown.org/works/17924039>

I will write more on 'The Flame of Melkor' as well.


End file.
